The Journey to our Son

By Tracy Blakely

The hard snow crunched under our feet as the frigid Russian winds attacked us as we made our way into the orphanage. Burdened with suitcases filled with new shoes, we entered with relief the old concrete building.

The smell of cooked cabbage and beets overtook us as our small army of Buckner volunteers marched up the time-worn stairs. Up and up we climbed until we were greeted by Ludmilla the director. She led us down a long dark hallway where the children waited with great anticipation to be fitted for their new shoes. One-by-one they would come in, take off their tattered slippers and try on new shoes. Some would dart from the room testing the speed of their new shoes and some would put on their old slippers and gently carry their new shoes to their rooms, careful not to scuff their new possession. But they all left with their faces aglow with pride.



A beautiful girl took a liking to James and hand-in-hand paraded him through the orphanage. Their pilgrimage ended in the boys’ room where Tanya found her younger brother sitting on the floor with a small scattering of broken toys at his side.

Dima was a small boy of nine winters. James set on the floor next to Dima and they talked with the aid of a translator. Dima then stood behind James and was enthralled with James’ shiny head. A strong bond was forged as the two played together that afternoon. James hurried to introduce Dima to me.

The day ended too soon and we were headed back to the bus. Dima and James stood there at the gate, their eyes filled with tears, not knowing if they would ever meet again.

We traveled back to Texas and were soon busy with our lives. We were happy to be home but there was something missing—there was a longing that could not be explained. Soon, we realized that our pain was the absence of Dima in our lives.

We returned to Russia four times in the next three years to visit Dima. The visits were taxing and each departure became more and more difficult. It was then that we knew Dima belonged in our home and we contacted Buckner to begin the adoption.

As it happened, Buckner was just beginning the Angels From Abroad program. A dozen or so Russian children would come to Dallas and live with families for three weeks. Of course we were among the first to sign up for this great adventure. We said that we would take a boy or a girl and age didn’t matter. We received a call saying that we were matched with an eleven year old boy—Dima. Dima is a common name in Russia but somehow we knew it was our Dima.

It seemed ages until the big day came. The international terminal at DFW airport held families eager to meet their Angels From Abroad. Dima came straight to us and we held him in our arms.

The ride home from the airport was long. We had expected to see Dima, with his face pressed against the window, excited to see the tall buildings and Texas Stadium. But he was unmoved. Upon arrival at our house, Dima walked in and headed straight to his bedroom and set his meager belongings on his bed. It was as though he had lived there his entire life. He was not impressed by the Dallas skyline, our house, the swimming pool. He was happy though for he had found what he had always dreamed of – a family.

Our days were filled with swimming, shopping, and eating ice cream. Each night, James would lie in bed with Dima until he fell asleep. Knowing only a few words in common, they had no trouble communicating with one another. Together they would sing a Russian lullaby, Kalinka, until Dima could resist sleep no more.

The three weeks went by in a blink. We didn't talk as we drove to the airport. The adoption could take months or years. So he would have to return home until then.

Dima’s room, once filled with the sounds of cartoons and laughter, was now still. The only sound now was but an echo-a fond memory-of a young boy and his new papa singing: “Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya.”

Five years have passed since that day and Dima is now not only in our hearts, but in our home.