Children of Dreams, An Adoption Memoir (16 page)

“We’re sorry to report that we can’t fix the problem and the trip has been canceled. We deeply regret any inconvenience this has caused and hope to have it fixed soon. Please come again.”

That day I learned life isn’t fair. We drove home disappointed and disillusioned. In the years that followed, I thought many times about my dad and I making the trip once more, but as often happens in life, the important things get pushed aside by the “tyranny of the urgent.”

In more melancholy moments, I lamented about the train trip we started but never finished. It bothered me because it was a special day set aside with Dad that never happened.

I was eight years old at the time. When I was thirty-seven, Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was a difficult time for all of us. My red Firebird must have left grooves in the pavement of I-75 from Gainesville to Atlanta as I made many trips to be with him.

One afternoon while I was in Atlanta, mother noticed in the newspaper an advertisement for the one day “Fall Leaf Special” train trip from Atlanta to North Georgia to enjoy the beautiful fall colors in the mountains.

“I want to make that trip,” I told her. “Let’s do it this fall while he is still with us.”

I reminded her about the train trip we tried to take thirty years earlier that was canceled because of the broken coupler. After much prodding, she agreed. We purchased train tickets and a few weeks later I drove up once again to Atlanta from Gainesville. This time Mother would come along, also.

Snacks were prepared in brown paper bags and we made sure Dad had his medicines, along with his cowboy hat to protect his head from the sun as a result of radiation treatments.

We arrived at the train station and I parked the van. It was a beautiful day. The darkness had given way to sunshine and I looked forward to the long anticipated event, albeit thirty years later. We made sure Dad was comfortable, had his hat on, and proceeded over to the station platform. Dad laughed and gave me a wink and a smile. I felt like time had rewound, except he had become the child and I had become the parent. I grabbed his hand to make sure he didn’t get lost or fall. In so many ways it seemed like it was only yesterday that we had been at the station.

I handed the train conductor our tickets, we climbed the stairs, found a train car we liked, and sat down. I let Dad have the window seat. We sat and waited, and I stared out the window that had become like a portal looking back thirty years, waiting for the revving of the engines.

At last, the whistle blew, the train lurched forward, and the view of the outside world began to disappear faster and faster behind us, until we had left the station far behind and the world outside the train was a blur.

Dad and I shared a quiet, unspoken moment and remembered. Even though he could hardly talk, he didn’t need to speak. Today we would finish our long-awaited train trip.

As we left the noise and crowded streets of Atlanta behind, suburbia was replaced by large open fields and an occasional farmhouse. The red clay became a green countryside of rolling hills and valleys, and the chugging of the train was the only thing that could be heard. Soon the world outside became an array of blurry reds and yellows as the flaming, vibrant colors of fall blanketed the trees.

There is satisfaction in never giving up and completing something one begins. I often tell my children, “Never give up on your dreams. Even if you don’t accomplish everything that God sets before you, He has a plan and a purpose. The world is filled with mediocrity. Don’t be like the world. In everything, you should do it as if you are doing it unto the Lord, and then give God the glory.”

Like the seasons that come and go with predictability bringing saneness to our chaotic world, God brings completeness. In Isaiah 55:11, He promises that His word “will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.”

As Manisha, Mother, and I left the New Haven Hospital to return home, God had given me the truth to finish the race. In John 8:32, Jesus said, “Then you will know the
truth, and the truth will set you free;” and in Proverbs 19:21, Solomon wrote, “People can make all kinds of plans, but only the Lord’s plan will happen” (New Century Version).

We returned home to Gainesville with wedding bells at 30,000 feet. Manisha married the two Coke bottles as husband and wife that our stewardess had given us to drink, which promptly gave birth to baby water bottles. No matter how difficult life gets, children have a resiliency that defies logic. She never said if they were baby girls or boys, but I bet they were little girls.

Chapter Twenty-Two

…In this world you will have trouble

John 16:33

Time passed quickly leading up to the travel date. In one week, we celebrated Thanksgiving and decorated the house for the holidays. I wrapped presents for Christmas, packed for the trip to Vietnam, gathered Manisha’s clothes and toys to stay with the Murphys, paid bills, made arrangements for the care of our animals, and confirmed last-minute preparations before leaving.

I was excited to have Jenni Murphy join me on the trip. Bright and inquisitive, Jenni embraced the diversity of Vietnamese culture in a way that amazed me. Every meal was a new adventure for her in tasting the exotic. On a practical level, she became quite adept at reading Vietnamese maps—a good thing, since I was notorious for getting us lost.

I hope someday God will use the trip to reveal Himself to this talented young lady who is trained in film production. God never wastes or squanders opportunities to teach us something we wouldn’t otherwise learn.

The big day finally arrived. We took two cars from Gainesville to Jacksonville. Curtis, Jenni, and Linsey rode in one car; Sylvia, Manisha and I followed them in the other. After stopping at a McDonald’s for coffee, we lost each other. I figured we would eventually connect somewhere along the way, but the humor of it didn’t escape me. We hadn’t gone twenty miles and were already separated. How would we ever manage not to lose each other traveling halfway around the world?

After arriving at the airport, Jenni fixed the broken zipper on my suitcase that I had discovered shortly before leaving home. I could imagine all my clothes being strewn about in the baggage compartment of the plane at thirty thousand feet. We checked in my luggage and picked up our tickets, walked through the carry-on baggage check, and found the departure gate. Already fatigued with anticipation, we sat down in some empty seats and waited.

Jenni, dressed casually in her red Adidas T-shirt and jeans, had her dark brown hair cut short for convenience. Unlike me with volumes of suitcases, she had only one backpack that she carried around easily on her back. Talk about traveling light, she could be in the Guinness Book of World Records.

It was hard to believe the long-awaited moment was here. I tearfully hugged Manisha and said good-bye multiple times. I wished she could go with me. She told me later she cried all night the first night, but if she wanted a sister, there was no other way. I knew it would be hard, but it was harder than I imagined.

The plane began boarding and we grabbed our carry-on and stood in the long line. Jenni gave her mother and father a last hug. At eighteen, she acted grown up about it, but good-byes are always hard. I gave Manisha one more embrace with tears in my eyes, offering a silent prayer that God would bring us home safely. I blew her several kisses as I stepped up to hand the attendant my ticket, waving quickly as I distractedly followed the boarding procedures. He tore the ticket in half and handed me my seat stub.

It happened all too quickly. As Jenni and I entered the door to the gangplank, we both waved until Manisha, Sylvia, Curtis, and Linsey were lost from sight. I wanted to run back over and give Manisha one last hug. I couldn’t. If Jenni hadn’t been with me, I
might have dashed back into the airport lobby throwing boarding protocol to the four winds. I might have changed my mind. I will never know. As I boarded the plane, my only reassurance was I knew God had called me to go to Vietnam and He would comfort Manisha while I was gone.

I also knew Curtis and Sylvia loved Manisha almost as much as I did. I laughed and thought to myself, she may have so much fun she won’t want to come back home. She was getting a break from school and chores and I told Curtis and Sylvia she could watch all the television she wanted. “Uncle Curtis” was one of her favorite people. They could spend hours putting together puzzles or swimming in the local YMCA pool.

We found our seats, 21A and B, strapped ourselves in, and readied for takeoff. Our first stop was Atlanta. In Atlanta I called my mother from one of the pay phones as we waited. It helped to pass the time which ticked agonizingly slow. I hated uncertainty and with everything that had happened in the preceding few weeks, it was hard not to worry about the future. After the hour and fifteen minute layover in the Hartsfield International Airport, we flew to San Francisco.

In San Francisco we had two and a half hours to get a bite to eat and feel tired. From there we boarded a Cathay Pacific jet. It was a large state-of-the-art luxury jumbo jet. In three words, it was beautiful. Each of the seats in front of us had a pull-down screen with a wide variety of entertainment choices. I was fascinated with the one that showed our location in the air—our altitude, how far we had traveled, how fast we were traveling, how cold the air temperature was, the wind speed—I was mesmerized as I watched the numbers change as the plane slowly made its way toward Hong Kong.

With air time and layovers in Atlanta and San Francisco, it was about twenty hours before we landed in Hong Kong at 6:30 in the morning on December 6. Jet lagged and fatigued, we stretched our legs. I was relieved to have landed safely on solid ground.

Security at the Hong Kong airport was tight, which reminded me of when I traveled to Israel. In New York’s LaGuardia, before they would let me board the El Al plane, I had been pulled out of the line and drilled for over an hour by a senior official. He along with others wanted to know why a young, blonde female, who obviously was not Jewish, would be traveling alone to Israel when the United States was fixing to launch an attack in the Middle East.

Who had packed my bags? Had they ever been out of my sight? Where was I going? How long would I be there? I wondered why other countries had so much tighter security than the United States.

In England I had been pulled out and frisked. In Switzerland they dumped out all of my belongings going through customs and demanded an explanation as to why I was carrying around a Nikonis underwater camera when Switzerland was in the middle of a snowstorm.

As we all learned on 9/11, the United States was lured into a false sense of security. This day, though, things followed a logical course and after disembarking, we found a good place to eat. The airport was spotlessly clean and beautiful. After leaving customs, the crowds thinned and we were left with a feeling of wonder at the modern, white architectural design of the building. Airy and open, adorned with much Eastern-flavored artwork in the form of sculptures and paintings, the airport was a major hub for international travelers making connections on smaller carriers.

The back side of the airport was all glass. Through the raindrops on the windows, I could barely make out the coastline of China, with the outline of huge mountains largely covered by clouds and mist. It would have been nice to see more. The little bit I could make out made me curious about what I was missing.

Before exiting the plane, the pilot had told us there were several places travelers could go in the terminal to take a hot shower and freshen up while waiting for a connecting flight. We walked around exploring in a daze and eventually found an “oasis” for relaxation. I opted for a massage in a chair that rolled bristles up and down my back and tickled my feet. I quickly settled into a couple of hours of pampering myself and enjoying a little freedom. It seemed odd not to have to worry about anybody but myself. Jenni found several shops to buy souvenirs.

“I am so excited,” she said several times. “Even if we turned around and went back now, just to see this has been worth it.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. She reminded me that even with weary legs, I could still feel young at heart. I had forgotten what it was like to be a college student with a zeal for the “eccentric.”

After a hot shower, I sat down at a computer and typed some emails. I sent one to the Murphys letting them know we had arrived safely in Hong Kong and one to the adoption agency. “We’re Almost There,” I titled it. Soon it was time to leave our little pampering and board for the final leg of our journey. It was a much shorter trip to Vietnam but after flying for two days, we were both exhausted.