The wake up call came at 4am Wednesday morning. I had been lying in bed awake since 3am, hoping to drift into some sleep, even if a little, until the call came in. Ray was snoozing next to me.
The time had come to go home. As amazing as that thought was, I didn’t really think about the wonder of it all: we were to check out at 5:10am and there was plenty to do until then. The two big bags had pretty much been packed, and they were zippered sitting by the door. Gifts were in the green one, having replaced eaten food and displaced medical supplies, which were donated to a local clinic. My two carry-ons remained undone though. The decision in the moment was to get myself ready, however, and so the last shower in China was taken. I made sure to maintain sure-footing for those few minutes; the last thing needed was for me to fall and crack my head.
Ray had a sponge bath the night before so all he would need is a quick change into his travel clothes that were by the bed; as best as could be, I wanted him smelling nice and looking sharp for his momma. He did really well with the sponge bath, not crying at all! And this included getting his head doused with water, scrubbed with J&J Baby Shampoo, and rinsed as needed.
Though I had set the alarm for 4:45am to wake up Ray, our boy ended up stirring for good at 4:30am. I quickly dressed him and let him plod around the room in the slight daze he was in. Our last second stuff was more important than entertaining him. My dad helped out with the former, giving up some valuable suitcase space; I also discovered an expansion zipper on one of my bags…which literally let me close the darn thing when applying my full weight.
It was 5:05am and we were set. I told my son we were going home. I’d say it to Ray upwards of 30 times throughout the trip. For he was. Finally.
We were downstairs in the lobby within minutes, and with assistance from a security guy (bellhops are apparently not available at that our). May, Leila, and The Houston’s were ready and waiting. I immediately became jealous of young Daniel, as he was wearing his pajama tops – oh, to travel in such style. He deserved it though, for I have never met a cuter, more polite three-year old.
Believe it or not, but even checkout came with hiccups. Either a trainee or Little Joe Friday was working the desk that morning. He insisted I was given two room card keys, and wanted more than the one turned in. All that could be said was, “You didn’t, and I don’t have anything to give you.” Second, he made me sign my name again on the credit card receipt, since the first one didn’t look like what was on the back of my card.
Ten of us plus the driver and our luggage piled into the van that would take us to the airport…but not before we were to pick up the Rahilly’s at the White Swan Hotel. Where, really, were they to sit? The van was packed!
When we pulled up into the back parking lot of the famous hotel (we never did the “Red Couch” photo thing), Leila got out and said, “Okay, please stay here and do not wander anywhere while we go and get the Rahilly’s.” What could that mean at this hour? Well, it turns out the message was for Glenn, as he was apparently wont to go off or drift off without notice throughout the Houston’s trip! Either way, he stayed put, and it was actually Ray and me who ventured outside in the wee hours for a wee visit that Ray needed.
The Rahilly’s emerged from the hotel, and somehow merged them and their stuff into the tight 
space we were in. Fold-down aisle seats helped the cause, which included the stowing of several long boxes containing fancy window shades (they had been purchased for a great price, but it would be a dear price to get them home).
With that we all left for the airport. The Pearl River passed us by in the dark, highlighted by blue neon lights running along the concrete bank. My time with Ray in Guangzhou maybe had been different than most – it was the first time I saw the famous river.
There was heavy traffic that early morning, but it never affected our forward movement. It was such an honor to spend these last moments with two wonderful families. It is beautiful to see the goodness in Ken and Monica, and Glenn and Sarah. They love Ella and Naomi – unconditionally, and with such appreciation for what God has done in their lives. It was also wonderful to meet Anita during the journey. Sarah’s mother, like my father, certainly blessed her family and her new grandchild with her presence and support.
With about ten minutes remaining in the ride, Monica asked me what the title of our adoption story was, and “Journey to the Image of God” was shared. Who knows where it will go, but Rose and I do know it will be wrapped between two covers for Ray one day. My travel companions indulged me as I quickly recounted the high points of our journey to our son. The center piece of the story was the Jim and Angel Bellante connection; and Sarah even shared how everyone was praying for Dang Fu He during the spring time. Listening gently to my rambling (the airport was approaching!) Monica said it reminded her of a story called
The Waiting Child. No sooner did she recommend that Rose and I read the book…did Ken reach around the seat and give us his personal copy that he was currently reading. What a gesture, what a random act of kindness.
The morning was breaking as we pulled up to the curb of the airport. Everyone who had piled in 50 minutes earlier now piled out, including the driver, who was kind enough to take a going-away picture of the Guangzhou Gang.
Inside everyone shared hugs and good-byes, as well as modest confusion for the next travel steps. Eventually though we went our separate ways, checking in to our respective airlines and making our way to the international departure area. My dad and I had been with May the entire trip, from our frantic departure in Beijing for Harbin, to now, something more calm if not somber. She was the perfect coordinator for us – May knew the process, but was flexible enough, had a sense of humor and was caring – yet we could only offer her a few imperfect gifts of thanks as we said farewell.
From Customs to Security to a last minute gift purchase and a brief bathroom break to Gate A16, where our plane awaited. Our tickets were checked – then checked 15 feet later for whatever reason – and then we settled into our seats. At 8:38am the plane’s back wheels left the ground. We were Hong Kong bound, having left China mainland for good.
When we landed about 45 minutes later my dad and I shared an inside joke from a 40-year old Bill Cosby bit. My parents and I have kidded since I was a kid about “we’re going to the zoo, then we’re going to Hong Kong”…and here, Tuesday we went to the Guangzhou zoo and Wednesday, airport or not, we were in Hong Kong! Too funny.
Wow, maybe we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover nor a city by its airport….but Hong Kong is probably a great place to visit. HKIA is built on what effectively is an artificial island which connects to the northern side of Lantau Island. Whatever the mountain range was that protected us, it was gorgeous.
Our lay-over was long enough to afford us buying some sandwiches for lunch (my father had duck in a spinach wrap), and for Ray and me to engage in a battle of the wits and wills over a thimble full of Benadryl. I had learned from the Harbin-to-Guangzhou trip, and this time the hope-to-have-him-sleep-a-bit stuff was mixed with mango juice. But…Ray knew it and wouldn’t have any of it…until the elixir was consistently found between him and a breakfast bar. It took a full five minutes - whereby the pitcher kept shaking off the catcher – but he relented and the cause was mine, the prize was his.
(UA896 was to Chicago...why this says Atlanta, who knows)
I was kidding myself anyhow, because we faced a 14-hour flight to Chicago. That’s a mighty long time for a 38-year old, let alone my three-year old. There were two other adoptive families on this trip into the USA, and they could probably appreciate the same issue; it maybe was tougher for them since the children seemed to be around 12 months and 15 months.
It was time to board for us, and all. From the First-Class to Business Class to Yet-Another-Class-Higher-Than-Economy Class to the Economy Class, the aisle seemed to get narrower and narrower as I lugged our luggage, with Ray in tow. Then we made it to row 56 on the huge plane.
Technically my father’s seat was not next to Ray and mine. Our plan was to ask whoever was in the aisle seat to see if they’d switch to one row behind, at the window. It took a while for our traveling companion to show up, but then he did. And, with my dad kinda hanging out in the proverbial wings, the guy planted himself, not knowing about our situation. Within minutes, the fellow, who seemed to be in his early 40’s, asked whether Ray was adopted. I said yes…he asked from what province…I responded Heilongjiang…and he asked, “From Harbin City?”
Um, of the 500-plus passengers on the plane…How many were planning on adopting from China? How many were adopting from Harbin City CWI, from where Ray had lived just 10 days prior? And what were the chances they would sit next to me?
One would guess a low number to the first question, “probably zero” to the second, and “definitely zero” to the last one. And it would be those answers if I took 100 flights. But not that morning. This gentleman, traveling on business, was to adopt his second child from China; and he and wife would be traveling to Harbin City in January!
My eyes and heart lit up. I just wanted him to know how wonderful the people were in Harbin! And, and…oh, my…it would be
coooold in January! Alas, we didn’t talk but for a few minutes. It was probably a combination of the goodness of his heart (it was only right for the grandfather to be with the other two) and the practical part of his mind (See little boy. See little boy being restless. See little boy going to the bathroom a lot), but he switched seats with my dad. We did do a little talking between the crack in the seats before taking off – even having Ray examine a picture of this man’s daughter – and shared email addresses in hopes of talking in the future. Very cool!
There is no need to recount 14 hours of flight here; you would not be better for that level of “sharing.” Plus, like a woman’s labor I’ve suppressed much of it by now. It would only be right, however, to state out and out that Ray was amazingly good. Yes he was active, yes he went to the bathroom every hour, but how a kiddo sat boxed in a corner for such a long time with such a great attitude is beyond me. The flight was very tiring, but Ray was not.
My boy did sleep the last few hours, which thankfully enabled me to drift off some too. I knew he was knocked out cold, since when breakfast called about an hour before we were to land Ray did not answer it. My father and I did some circus act, balancing three trays while we ate. And eventually – after some rubbing of cheeks, kissing of the forehead, running of a forked piece of omelet under his nose and across his lips – I just had to sit him up in the seat and allow him to slowly wake.
Then he ate.
Flight UA896 bound for Chicago finally made its landing approach. Make no mistake: when the wheels touched down it was not lost on me that, while not yet home, our son was indeed now in the Land of the Free, the Home of the Brave. My voice cracked when calling Rose from the cell phone. I didn’t have connectivity in Hong Kong, so we hadn’t spoken for about 16 hours, since right before checking out of the Victory. Ray was in The United States of America. (And, as an aside, if that is momentous for him, then it –
that we live in this country – is momentous for us, too. In effect, regardless of where one falls on the socio-economic scale, just being born in the USA is like winning the lottery.)
Praise God. All that was between us was a 90-minute flight. That and, as it turned out, the longest, sweatiest, most anxiety-ridden time of the entire two weeks. It was 11:26pm when we hit the runway and there was almost too much to do before our 1:10pm lift-off for BWI.
It was during the long, long walk from the airplane to the Immigrations post that it first dawned on me we may not make our connecting flight home. I had been carrying this large sealed brown envelop with a half-inch of Visa stuff inside. It needed to be “processed” – and how long that was to take was not a guess I could make.
Ray and I could, however, take the shorter of the two lines, since he was a foreigner. After winding to-and-fro through the empty line holders we made it to front, and then were sent to see Customs Officer Murillo who kindly greeted us; he had to stand up and look over the counter to verify that Ray was Dang Fu He. Our passports were stamped just like that, but we were to take his paperwork to another agent in yet another line…after our luggage came out.
Five bags needed to come out eventually, but for Ray and I to continue making progress only our two were needed. We waited. Goodness, we are never going to make our flight. In the scheme of life, it was okay. Maybe we could catch later flight, though it was the infamous “Day Before Thanksgiving.” Okay, worse case was we’d spend the night somewhere in Chicago. But the journey wasn’t supposed to go that way.
There was the black one! Come on, come on. Yes, there was the green one! Ray and I left my dad; he’d be going through a different line anyhow.
When we arrived at the second station there were three groups in front of us – the two earlier-mentioned adoptive families and a lone woman. They had already been set aside by the Customs officer. When he came up to Ray and me before he could do the same thing…I tossed in, “Do you think we can still make our connecting flight to Baltimore? It’s at 1:10pm, and his momma really needs to see him today.” He looked at his watch and said, “I don’t know.” Well, it was worth a try.
My father then came through. “Dad, you’re supposed to be over in that line.” Apparently not. For whatever reason he had decided to claim Chinese goods valued at $1,000 USD. This wouldn’t have mattered…except the lone Customs officer was now processing my father. Let me be clearer than clear – I could NEVER had done this trip without my dad. He was wonderful without qualification, to Ray and to me. Yet for this split moment, well, we were both sorry for it. If $999 had been claimed, the time would not be lost.
The two of them talked about what he had purchased, and moved over to another counter. We all just waited. It probably was one of those situations where time expanded, so though I have no idea how long it was, five minutes was probably accurate. And it seemed like twenty minutes.
Then – hey, this is great – a second officer came over to the counter that had our four stacks on it. He said, “Demian.” How thoughtful, maybe the other officer had taken a cue from my desperation and placed Ray’s folder on top. Yet, as pathetic as I was, the only realistic response available was, “I’m sorry, they were first.” But, they were nicer than I was pathetic, and knowing we had a tight connecting flight, their response was, “No, you go first!” Beautiful! Thank you!
The officer looked at Ray and said, “Ni Hao.” Uh, oh, was this a test for Ray or something? Yes, I actually thought that, if only for a millisecond before realizing my stupidity. Ray reached over and pointed out his passport and Visa pictures for the officer. “That’s me,” he likely said in Chinese. The man stamped something and said, “Congratulations.”
That was it? Can we go? He said yes. Wow, maybe we could make the flight! What was next? Our baggage needed to go through the x-ray machine.
I couldn’t complain here, as there really was no line. We did see suitcases being opened up and shuffled though when spit out on the other end. That could be quite the pain with ours, and least for me, since the Customs officers wouldn’t be the ones to sit on the darn things, and time a slight bounce just so the zippers could move. But heck if I know, ours went through to the end without a care! It may have had something do with not having foreign food.
By now my dad had caught up and we were ready to rock and roll! We left the area, only to be told to return to it three seconds later. Our luggage needed to be checked through to BWI. This would have been an easy thing but not the way we were going. One of my baggage tickets had fallen off, and the other was about to fall off; my father had one in the latter category as well. Those could be stapled, but the other one needed to be reprinted. Fortunately we were not setting precedence and a supervisor was able to get it done right there Johanna-on-the-Spot. Sweet!
Where exactly was our connecting flight? Terminal 1, Gate B10. Roger that. Out of the area (again) and up the escalator to the airport train the three of us went. Though we waited for about four to five minutes, it was at that juncture I felt for the first time we could make it. O’Hare is huge, so who knew where B10 was in relation to current position. But my father said we had 15 minutes before boarding and that seemed like a lot of time – though there was the little issue of security. The real reason for my cautious confidence was that our bags had now presumably been checked…and it is a big no-no to have bags without passengers.
The train came. It stopped at Terminal 3. Then 2. Then 1. Ray and the carry-ons had been ridiculously heavy for quite awhile, and my dad was a savior with the bags. All just needed to be lugged a little longer. Up an escalator, over a road, down an escalator. Security was 50 yard to the right.
The lines were moving and when we materialized on the other, cleared side with shoes back on
and electronics back in…I looked up…and there – right there – was gate B10. It could have been a hundreds of yards down in this airport. My father was already in line to board. As Ray and I walked up…the emotions for both my father and I were tapped, as we just hugged and cried into each others shoulders, knowing angels had been at every step. We had run the gauntlet and made it. We
were going home.
The three of us were seated within minutes. The doors soon shut. We taxied in the rain. We took off for home drenched In His Reign.
Never have I taken an easier flight. Forget the jet engine technology, we were floating on air. The Chesapeake Bay came in view, and the descending hastened. We landed, the whole 90-minute plane ride having gone by in minutes. I turned to our son and said, “Ray, we’re home.” So matter of fact, he simply said, “Oh.”
It was 3:45pm. While gathering our belongings and myself, I heard my dad on the line with my mother: “’T’, the Tiger has landed.” Indeed, he had. It was all so unbelievable. I struggled to comprehend that we would see Rose and the kids so soon. I called my lovely wife and let her know that reality. She was beyond ready.
Three generations of Seeley Men made the slow walk up Terminal D. Ray was in my arms. As we rounded to the left of Security I saw Rose and Ray's siblings. Never have I felt more proud in my entire life than at that moment.
Next up were Rose's arms. Thanks be to God.
(Finally HOME!)
(HAPPY THANKSGIVING!)
(Fri, Nov 23; Ray is grandchild #32 for Grandmom Schissler!)
(Sat, Nov 24; Ray's first "Christmas Tree Hunt")
