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…the other climbs the proverbial walls for days until the plane lands at the designated airport. I can verify this. I’ve been there.
Most people are shocked when they find out I did not travel to Guatemala, but the truth remains: I did not. My husband works as a civil servant and the first year of any new job is considered “probation”. That said, traveling wasn’t really an feasible choice, since we were anticipating Beauty’s homecoming to be somewhere within the last six months of this time frame. We had resigned ourselves to an option we didn’t really want to choose: an escort from Guatemala to the United States. But all that changed when we found Beauty would be arriving home come December 2007.
Due to a miscommunication between two people at our agency, the “time added” for an escort would’ve been three months, not three weeks. Of course, we didn’t find this out until less than two weeks to the very day Beauty “set foot” on American soil. We were horrified. We were crushed at the prospect of waiting three weeks, let alone three months. Something had to give. My husband made passionate pleas to those in positions above his, switched shifts, and headed out the door. So why didn’t I go, when all this had changed last minute? Did we not have a sitter for Bear? No, that wasn’t the issue. I was missing something, though. My passport.
I didn’t have one, and I still don’t. Up to the very last minute, we had planned on an escort, so I didn’t really have a choice when we made the decision. My husband had to fly solo. Thankfully, Guatemala required that only one parent travel and I was able to breathe easy knowing all was not lost. But was I really breathing easy? Not quite. I’ll be honest yet again: I was heartbroken.
This was the first place tie for the happiest moment in my life: the moment we met our second child. But I was missing out. And I was feeling, well, gypped. I had wanted so much to meet my beautiful daughter whom I loved so intensely, but now, I had to wait. I was jealous of my husband to the nth degree. While I knew he’d do an amazing job of caring for our daughter, I didn’t want to miss those moments. I had already missed almost nine months! I did what I shouldn’t have done by allowing this sentiment to rain a little doom and gloom on my joy. But all that changed with a phone call.
Back to the wall pacing, no? As I waited to hear my husband met our daughter, the minutes ticked by so slowly. When the phone rang, I felt my breath catch in my throat as I leaped to answer it. It was, of course, my husband. He could barely speak, and when he did, I could hear the tears on his face. He said to Beauty, “Say hello to mommy” and I heard the sweetest coos into the phone. My daughter’s voice. Of course, I burst into tears, and the three of us had an emotional conversation. When I finally hung up, I felt my whole attitude had shifted. Instead of lamenting the moments I had missed and was still missing, I counted the time (in both hours and minutes, mind you) until I would physically meet my daughter. And let me tell you, that was the sweetest meeting I could’ve imagined.
