(One year ago this LAST month, Pa and I made the trek to China to adopt our sweet Sister Susie. I am going to take the first seventeen days of February 2008 HOWEVER MANY DAYS IT TAKES to revisit that trip. Hop in for the ride!)
You don't step off an international flight at O'Hare and feel refreshed. "Frazzled" might be a good word. "Frantic, Frenzied, and Faint" are a few others. Not only is that place a buzz, but our bodies were spinning as well.
A 14-hour flight from halfway around the world has a tendency to do that.
As we fought off sleep--All The While Tending To A Baby--we caught some rumblings that the flight we were scheduled to go home on was going to be canceled.
Oh glory, did we ever step into gear just then.
And you can relax. We made it on an earlier flight, as God in his Infinite Goodness had mercy on not just me, but the entire airline personnel as well.
Because you see, this Ma did not have just one child, called "Susie." She had left behind a couple of other kids named Campers (5) and Zig (2). And there was NOTHING, AB-SO-LUTE-LY NOTHING that was going to separate this Mama Bear from her cubs any longer.
I would have walked from Chicago to Fort Wayne if I had to.
Pulling my luggage behind me. Through the snow.
So when Pa and I stepped on that last and final flight, and knew we were on our way home, we crashed. (I know, I know, bad choice of words. Again.) All three of us were dead to the world the whole flight.
So when we landed in Fort Wayne, we were not the most coherent folks on that flight.
Well, how would we know, because by the time we woke up, we were the ONLY folks on that flight.
Mmmm-hmmm.
And when Pa and I stepped off that plane--the Last Leg of The Journey--we did so with a bit of reluctance. We weren't ready to say "goodbye" to our trip or say "hello" to reality.
But we dragged ourselves into the airport and off to the first restroom we saw, partly to wash off some stench, but mostly to switch gears.
That's the funny thing about airports. They mark so many beginnings and endings...tell so many transitions and tales. I have mentioned before that airports invigorate me, but they also awaken me to all the "welcomes" and "farewells" of the world around me. It's tough to walk through a terminal without shedding a few tears.
And that humble little airport, out in a cornfield in Indiana, became hallowed ground to me that day. It wasn't just a place for our plane to land--it was the place where my baby's life began.
Her new life.
Her new family.
Her new friends.
Fittingly, we were greeted by scads of family and friends, carrying balloons, gifts and signs:
But I had my eye focused on two little boys in red. I'm telling you, there is nothing so sweet as being reunited with the people you love. After 17 days apart, we weren't even sure we'd recognize our kids, let alone them recognize us.
Our eldest, Campers became his usual Reserved Self, standing off to the side. I imagine that he was keeping his emotions at bay, not wanting to embarrass himself in the crowd.
But our Zig? He squashed right up to me and the Suz, happily saying over and over, "It's my own baby sister...my very own baby sister."
It was the cutest, most precious thing I have ever heard.
(As you can tell by my face saying "Awwwww...")
Here's our first family photo of five:
You don't step off an international flight at O'Hare and feel refreshed. "Frazzled" might be a good word. "Frantic, Frenzied, and Faint" are a few others. Not only is that place a buzz, but our bodies were spinning as well.
A 14-hour flight from halfway around the world has a tendency to do that.
As we fought off sleep--All The While Tending To A Baby--we caught some rumblings that the flight we were scheduled to go home on was going to be canceled.
Oh glory, did we ever step into gear just then.
And you can relax. We made it on an earlier flight, as God in his Infinite Goodness had mercy on not just me, but the entire airline personnel as well.
Because you see, this Ma did not have just one child, called "Susie." She had left behind a couple of other kids named Campers (5) and Zig (2). And there was NOTHING, AB-SO-LUTE-LY NOTHING that was going to separate this Mama Bear from her cubs any longer.
I would have walked from Chicago to Fort Wayne if I had to.
Pulling my luggage behind me. Through the snow.
So when Pa and I stepped on that last and final flight, and knew we were on our way home, we crashed. (I know, I know, bad choice of words. Again.) All three of us were dead to the world the whole flight.
So when we landed in Fort Wayne, we were not the most coherent folks on that flight.
Well, how would we know, because by the time we woke up, we were the ONLY folks on that flight.
Mmmm-hmmm.
And when Pa and I stepped off that plane--the Last Leg of The Journey--we did so with a bit of reluctance. We weren't ready to say "goodbye" to our trip or say "hello" to reality.
But we dragged ourselves into the airport and off to the first restroom we saw, partly to wash off some stench, but mostly to switch gears.
That's the funny thing about airports. They mark so many beginnings and endings...tell so many transitions and tales. I have mentioned before that airports invigorate me, but they also awaken me to all the "welcomes" and "farewells" of the world around me. It's tough to walk through a terminal without shedding a few tears.
And that humble little airport, out in a cornfield in Indiana, became hallowed ground to me that day. It wasn't just a place for our plane to land--it was the place where my baby's life began.
Her new life.
Her new family.
Her new friends.
Fittingly, we were greeted by scads of family and friends, carrying balloons, gifts and signs:
But I had my eye focused on two little boys in red. I'm telling you, there is nothing so sweet as being reunited with the people you love. After 17 days apart, we weren't even sure we'd recognize our kids, let alone them recognize us.
Our eldest, Campers became his usual Reserved Self, standing off to the side. I imagine that he was keeping his emotions at bay, not wanting to embarrass himself in the crowd.
But our Zig? He squashed right up to me and the Suz, happily saying over and over, "It's my own baby sister...my very own baby sister."
It was the cutest, most precious thing I have ever heard.
(As you can tell by my face saying "Awwwww...")
Here's our first family photo of five:
Which was a surreal moment, as you might imagine. Pa and I quickly transitioned to Zone Defense, 2 on 3.
And that Campers?
No worries. When we arrived in the comfort of our own home that night, he took hold of that girl with all the love that a five-year-old could afford:
People always ask me how the boys first responded to Suz. I tell them--they claimed her as Sister. And that was the end of that.
