Things that shape you - a Caring Touch.

Or how I came to love The Queen.

I am not a UK citizen and never thought I would be crying on account of the Queen’s demise at 96. But her death sent me down a rabbit hole of memories and led to a major self discovery about why I love Britain.

I first came to England when I was 12 after just two weeks notice from my mom. My home in Russia was recently robbed and this ”deportation/holiday” was her way of insuring my safety. Russia was in the middle of blossoming criminality of the 90s and my single boss mom tried to keep afloat a successful construction business within ups and downs of a newborn capitalist market. This was one of the downs. A large sum was stolen and she was afraid of a possible kidnapping. Times..

That’s how after long summer holidays at my grandma’s in Ukraine instead of going back to my cosy school I ended up packing a suitcase and a giant pink lion plushy and on a plane to the UK. No goodbyes to friends as a precaution. All hush hush.

I came to Cambridge to live with a homestay family in September 1997. Only several days after Diana died. I was crying almost constantly as my mom had to return to Moscow soon and leave me to a family I had yet to know and love. I was a tiny type of a 12 year old, terrified of the dark and with no idea when I’ll see mom… In front of my homestay family though I kept my feelings bottled up being a good chess piece on adults’ game board.

I remember my first UK impressions - closed shops, rain, fields of bouquets, rain, and toys and ribbons in Diana’s memory. There was an atmosphere of confusion and sadness and, boy, could I relate.

I was in my homestay family’s living room when Diana’s funeral cortege passed by on a TV screen. My whole family - mom, dad and three girls of 7, 9 and 11 - stood up in silence. I stood up with them following unscripted new rules. They looked sad. And after the live feed they talked at length about the poor boys who lost their mom and about The Queen who consoled them and about how she broke rules and showed her feelings against protocol. That was my first impression of Elizabeth II - a caring touch that reached to the heart of a common household.

I didn’t understand half of it, confused and homesick, but since then it felt like my homestay family was seeing my struggles with new eyes. In the following weeks they accepted me in their life like an adopted child - I got hugs and goodnight kisses, went shopping and Irish dancing with them, sang at pyjama parties and played Cluedo, went to bed with an English book and woke willingly on early foggy mornings cause I knew I’d get a hug along with a crunchy toast.

They were amazing people on their own and maybe Queen’s behaviour didn’t change anything - I will never know the alternative. What I know is that The Queen broke protocol and acknowledged publicly her grief for Diana. And soon my homestay family broke the accommodation protocol to acknowledge my childish grief and properly console a lonely kid with hugs.

Since then England stayed in my heart as a country that got me. In my hour of need it not only felt same as I - sad and confused that autumn of 1997 - but also managed to show me how to live through my feelings in a healthy way and weather difficulties through company and communication. It shaped me.

These last days I feel deep gratitude to The Queen who in her own symbolic way gave me a surrogate family and another country.