Once there was a red blanket folded neatly on a shelf in a children’s store. For many months it lay there, almost forgotten. It was perfect size for a small child.
I live with my dog, lily, a few miles from town. Apple trees grew in my front yard, and there was a pond across the road. The house was filled with pictures to look at and book to read and even a beautiful piano I plated every day. But still, it felt empty. I love lily, and she went everywhere with me. Still, I felt a little lonely. I was sad that I had no children.
one evening, I was sitting on the back porch with lily. Somewhere, a little girl is waiting for a mommy, I thought. There must be a way to bring us together. I rubbed lily’s soft ears. I thought late into the night.
The next morning, I called an adoption agency. I sent letters far and wide.
Then I waited.
Deep snow fell, then melted into a muddy spring. I dreamed about my baby. Summer came and went, and the mornings grew crisp and cool. I longed to see my baby’s face, to hold my baby’s hand in mine.
There were tiny apples on the tree in the yard when, at last, a letter arrived. My hands were trembling as I opened the envelope. Inside was a small photograph – a baby girl with shininh eyes and a thatch of black hair. The letter told me her name was panpan. She lived in an orphanage on the outskirt of a city in china. “ please come soon,” the letter said.
Yes! I was so excited that I jumped up and down all around the yard.
“hooray!” cheered our friends and neighbors.
“woof!” said lily.
I raced into town to the children’s store. I bought diapers and bottles and milk formula. I bought white T-shirts and yellow pants, striped pajamas and tiny green socks. I found a rattle and a little brown bear. What else will my baby need? I wondered anxiously.
Then, just as I was about to leave the store, I noticed the blanket, all alone on a high shelf. I took it down. “I’d like to buy this, too,” I told the store clerk.
At home, I packed everything into my suitcase, folding the red blanket carefully in a corner. I was ready to go.
I bought lily to a friend’s house and kissed her good-bye. “be a good dog,” I said lily looked worried. “I’ll be back soon, with panpan. You’ll see.
I kissed her again and she wagged her tail. Then I went to airport, boarded an enormous airplane, and flew all the way across the ocean.
After I arrived in china, I traveled on smaller planes, and then on train, buses, and taxicabs. Two days and three nights later, I reached the orphanage.
The square building was surrounded by a stone wall, set in the middle of rice fields. The director welcomed me at the gate and led me up the wide steps.
Inside the nursery, the caretakers lifted a baby from a cot where three others lay sleeping. “This is panpan,” they said.
As last I held you in my arms! “Hello, my sweet girl,” I said.
Though you were small and thin, you were very strong. I smiled at you, but you wouldn’t meet my gaze, and you squirmed while I thanked the caretakers.
“She is a very good baby,” they said.
‘I know,” I said.
The director waved good- bye, and I carried you to the waiting taxi.
When we reached our hotel room, I showed you the view of the city. You wriggled in my arms again, and I pulled you closer.
“This is new for me, too” I said. “I’ve never been here before, either,” I pointed to the rooftops and to the wide river below. I described the fields and apple trees back home, and I told you all about lily, “we’ll be there soon,” I said as I walked you inside.
But you weren’t listening. Instead you looked around the room at the chair, the bed, the bureau, the curtains, the lamp, and the clock on the table. You looked everywhere but at me.
Everything in your life was different now. Where was your cot? Where were the other babies? Where were your caretakers? And who was this new person, carrying you around and pointing at things? You wriggled and squirmed and kicked your skinny little feet, and then you began to cry.
All day long tried to comfort you. I gave you the milk formula. I showed you the rattle and the bear. You were hungry for the milk, but you pushed the toys away. I dressed you in the new clothes, but the pants and socks were too big, and you shook them off. I walked you back and forth, singing all the sweet lullabies I could remember. But they were unfamiliar me melodies, and couldn’t understand the words.
Nothing I did consoled you. You cried ad cried until I felt like weeping too, and by evening time, we were both very tired. I laid you down and bent to kiss you. You judt turned your face away.
Finally, I remembered the red blanket. I rummaged through the suitcase and found it tucked inside. How soft it was! Hoe beautiful!
Gently, I spread it over your shoulders. It was the perfact size for you.
“This will keep you warm,” I whispered.
“This will keep you safe.”
You snuggle under the soft blanket. I used a little corner of it to wipe away your tears-you had stopped crying. Then you reached up, and I felt your tiny hand touch mine.
Mother and daughter, we held on tight.
A few days later, we traveled home. Our friend and neighbors met us at the door.
“Welcome home!” everybody cheered.
“Woof!” said lily.
I carried you, bundled in the blanket, all around the house. “Here is our kitchen,” I said. “And here is the living room and the piano. And look outside the window!” I pointed. “Apples! We all pick some tomorrow.” Then I showed you your room.
Together we looked at everything-the chair, the rug, the bureau, the curtain, the lame, and the clock on the table.
We looked at your crib, piled high with stuffed animals and toys that friends had brought for you. We looked t each other, and we smiled.
“I love you,” I said.
We were very tired. We were very happy.
Now this house is filled with pictures you have drawn and books we read together and beautiful piano we play we play every day.
It no longer feels empty.
As I look at you, sitting at the kitchen table, I can hardly believe how much you have grown. You climb the apple trees and race around the yard with lily. You have a new bike on the porch. You have a new, thick quilt on your bed. But every night, I still pulled up the little red blanket as I hug and kiss you good night.
“Sweet dreams, my darling. I love you very much,” I say.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I know.” You say. “I love you, too.”
And every morning, you bundle the blanket under your arm before you so out to play. When we take a weekend trip, it’s the first thing you pack. You carry it with you everywhere.
“It’s special,” you explain, if anyone asks.
The blanket is worn and faded by now, and some people think it’s just a raggedy piece of cloth but we know better, you and i. it will always be special. It will always be beautiful.
It will always be the soft, red blanket I brought you long ago, on that magical day when we first became a family.