Brussels ... Airport

Oct. 1, 2008

People leave the Africa Mercy weekly. Every single time, there are tears, goodbyes, and people line up along the dock and wave as the Nissan Patrol vehicles pull away. Sitting in the backseat, waving to all the crew members and dayworkers whom I've befriended, their faces neatly fit into the frame of the car window. I watched as they disappeared, a film that was played too fast. I will miss the local Liberian dayworkers the most because my chances of seeing them again, may be the lowest. Even if I return to Liberia, there are no addresses, no formal documents to identify a person and even cell phone numbers have a way of changing. Mother Teresa said, 'You know God has called you somewhere when it is difficult to say goodbye.' As the plane took off, I looked over the wild small patch of land they call Liberia, and relished in its meandering rivers and splotches of vibrant green. See you later, Mama Liberia.



Oct. 2, 2008 - Waiting in Brussels

I would have two hours to wait until Chris arrived in Brussels. I couldn't believe it. Over the course of six months, we emailed many times a day -- updates about our friends, our church, the US economy, gossip on the ship, encouragement to one another, complaints, forwarded emails. Instant messenger became our friend and the time delay over the phone our nemesis. And here he was, to step off a plane, and stand in front of me, in real life.

As I waited the next two hours, every man seemed to look like him, but they were too tall, too fat, too little hair, too much hair, too drab, too hip, too European. Not Chris. How precious a person is! No one can replace that person you love in your life. There is truly only one original of them.

His plane landed. The passengers trickled in. What would I say? Hey, stranger? Come here often? or Looking for someone? or Are you hungry? ( A good option for Chris, but not appropriate). Everyone deboarded the plane. No Chris. My heart sank and I grew very concerned.

I checked my phone and found a text message. Got on AA 136. Boarding now! I love you! . 136? That was not the correct flight. Suddenly I had an image of Chris boarding the wrong flight entirely. He's so nice, so congenial, the stewardess just looks at him, smiles, and he settles in to watch Cartoon Network until he reaches the plane's destination and realizes he's in Antartica. I calm myself down, thinking that even if that did happen, Chris, having the luck he does, would end up first class on the next plane and we'd meet up anyway. That, and commercial airlines don't fly to Antartica.

There was only one thing to do. Leave a voicemail on his phone masked in concern with some underlying frustration. Call me as soon as possible, I seethed.

I went to our little airport hotel and checked the email. Sure enough, he left Los Angeles on time, only to have the airplane turn back around after they were in the air due to mechanical failures. He waited six hours in LAX to board another plane, rerouted to Heathrow and then to Brussels. He would arrive 12 hours later than planned. I thought of my voicemail. Can anyone spell 'compunction'?


12 hours later

Arriving back at the Brussels airport, I saw this his flight from London was delayed. Again. Some sock knitting and a cappucino passed the time. A lot of my anxiety from the morning died down, and I forgot that I left my voicemail on his phone.

Families, friends, and drivers holding signs pressed up against the handrails at the exit. There were hellos and hugs in every language. Not much later, Chris came out and I recognized that expression on his face that I had seen so many times over the last four years picking me up from airports, picking me up for dates, and greeting me at his apartment -- Where is Michelle? I can't wait to see her. I ran up to him and hugged him. He picked me up and swung me around. Home.

He took my hands into his. "Sweetie, I got your message. I just want you to know that it wasn't my fault that the plane was late," he said.

I don't remember what I said. I only remember feeling pretty stupid about the message. I'm still working on that 'think before you act' thing which seems to ally with 'selfishness' as its best friend. That and I said sorry, and just plainly that I was so glad to see him and that the airplane didn't blow up. I realized that he waited for me for six months, and waiting for twelve hours for him wasn't nearly so bad. Also, he didn't end up in Antartica.

We stopped walking and I turned to him and said. "Are you really here?!"

"Yes!" We pumped our fists in the air like kids all the way to the bus stop.