Return to America

Two Months Not Two Years

Daina, our wonderful Latvian attorney, came to meet us at Children’s Court on Thursday. We had to stay for a while afterwards in order for some papers to be completed, so she and her son, who was our driver, went to lunch with the four of us.

Daina laughed and laughed at everything Baiba said. She told us, “She is so funny! I wish you knew Latvian because everything she says is funny.”

We had kind of gathered that because she is very funny in English too, and every time she was with friends she had them in stitches as well. One of the things Daina found particularly funny was Baiba’s description of a milkshake she had not been very happy with. She said it was like fruit and milk that someone mixed together and some ice cream accidentally fell in.

After the paperwork was completed, Daina drove us all back to Selga where we had to say goodbye to the girls. There we stood at the back door that they had bounced out of only two weeks before. While David hugged Agnese, I gave Baiba a very long hug, and then instinctively started rocking her. She willingly rocked with me and it occurred to me that she had possibly never been rocked before in her life. We finally broke the hug; I kissed her cheek and she said with me, “Be safe. Be smart. Be strong.”

Agnese allowed a hug but only for a short time. She is not one for big displays of affection. She said to us, “It’s only two months this time, not two years.”

So true.

We instructed them to think of our skeptical faces when they’re making plans, and to try to think before they do. Then they went inside, and we got back in Daina’s car and drove away.

It’s In the Eyes.

Never having been comfortable with public crying, I blinked back my tears and started a conversation with Daina. I told her that we were surprised at how people stared at us while we were there. I didn’t see a big difference between how we look and how Latvians look. Yet we drew stares everywhere we went and were consistently greeted in English rather than Latvian. I asked what set us apart.

She said, “I can tell you exactly what it is. I always know an American, especially an American man, the minute I see one because their eyes look happy. Latvians are very sad people. They are really struggling for money right now; they can’t feed their families. They’re tired and discouraged. It’s in the eyes; Americans have happy eyes.” 

Wow. Yes, Americans do have happy eyes. It was a great reminder that even those of us who are economically categorized as middle, or even lower middle-class have much more wealth than the vast majority of struggling souls in this world.

We’re not only richer monetarily; we also enjoy freedom, free enterprise, freedom of speech, and freedom of religion. Ironically the words describing America’s greatest riches all start with the word free. In Latvia’s long history, it has been occupied time and time again by different countries and has only been liberated from Soviet occupation since 1991. No wonder Latvia’s citizens, especially the older ones have sad eyes. This resonates with me even more significantly on this Memorial Day.

“Hell”-sinki

David and I spent our last night in Latvia in a nice hotel in downtown Riga. It was the beginning of a slow reentry to what’s more commonplace for us. We heard a lot more of our language because the hotel staff all spoke English. We had a nice dinner in the hotel restaurant and dared to have ice in our water.

We still had all those suitcases, and now the two we’d brought with Sunday school supplies had some of the girls’ belongings in them.

On Friday we took the short flight from Riga to Helsinki, this time on a small jet instead of the puddle-jumper we had on the way in. Once we were in Helsinki we had to pass through a rather intense security process at the gate. Each passenger was asked a series of questions and then allowed into the boarding area. Off to the side was a corralled section for random searches.

David and I were two of the first passengers to arrive, so fortunately the line was very short for us. However, in the time remaining before boarding was scheduled, the line grew very long.

We were intrigued by the people they were taking into the private area for extra screening, mostly elderly women including one in a wheelchair. Thank goodness they were giving those villainous ne’er-do-wells a second look.

Just as boarding was set to begin, everything came to a grinding halt. After a few minutes they announced that there was a problem with one of the engines and there would be a slight delay.

Three and a half hours of “slight delay” later we were finally on the plane. Delays are inconvenient enough but to have that long to wait before a nine and a half hour flight was cruel and unusual punishment. To add to the torture, we were in our little quarantined area and unable to easily get to restrooms, vending machines or shops. Of course we were very grateful that the problem had been discovered, and it’s way better to be safe than sorry when it comes to flying over the Atlantic. However, by the time we boarded, it was a plane full of hungry, grumpy people, one and all knowing that connecting flights in Chicago would be missed.

The scene at O’Hare was chaotic and stressful with everyone learning their fate as decided by American Airlines. We ended up with a voucher for a very nice hotel including $5 for breakfast the next day. Of course $5 for two people in Chicago buys about half a glass of orange juice, but it was better than a sharp stick in the eye, and the layover provided a nice chance to get a head start on our jet lag recovery.

 

Super-sized

The next day we returned to O’Hare early for our flight, and had lunch at Chili’s To Go. We laughed at how huge everything looked. Our glasses, packed with ice, looked like pitchers to us. The burgers were the size of our heads, and even the tables looked enormous. The bed in our Chicago hotel felt like sleeping on a soft, tall cloud.

This morning we went grocery shopping and it was like a trip to an amusement park. It was great to see all the wonderful selection of fruit, to be able to read the labels and know what and where everything was. I have taken my life here so for granted.

Our time in Ventspils was mind-expanding, character building and soul satisfying. I am very grateful that Latvia makes this requirement of adoptive parents; grateful that God has cast us as main characters in this divine plot; and grateful to our many friends and family members that have supported us to make this dream come true. I will treasure forever the memories of this first adoption trip to Latvia.