Feels Like Home to Me, Feels like I'm on my way back where I belong

Home. Home home home home home home home home.

"Home" was my mantra for 27 hours of travel. "Home" was what I focused on, that single word, as I sat in airplane bathrooms for half-hours at a time, holding a screaming, grieving child on my lap as she screamed her sadness, terror and anger, as she begged for the mother she finally seemed to realize was lost to her forever. "Ma---------------------" she cried, she screamed, she hollered, her face pink with sadness and rage. I would point to myself and say, "Ma. I am Ma." The look of despair on my child's face as she shook her head broke my heart. "Ma Ham, Ma Ham" (I am pretty sure that this means "not ma". (I took her to the bathrooms when this happened so that she could rage without disturbing the other passengers. Sometimes I would emerge from the bathroom, crying myself, holding my crying child, asking strangers, "Chi co hio din viet? Ang co hio din viet? Which I THOUGHT was supposed to mean, "do you speak Vietnamese" Evidently it does not. I resorted, at one point, to bursting into a sob and begging a stewardess to find a Vietnamese person. The Korean stewardess at first thought I was asking for a BEER (????????????????????????) and when I finally wrote the word "VIETNAMESE PERSON" on a piece of paper, 3 minutes later the stewardess was back with a bewildered Vietnamese twenty-something woman, who, after several minutes of explanation, sat down with Lan and spoke quietly to her for a few minutes. She stood up and said, "I'm sorry, she says she is sad. She wants her her mommy." Then, the girl touched my shoulder (I was crying pretty hard myself at this point) and said, "I'm so sorry. In time, I'm sure, she will be very happy with you.") I cannot even put into words how painful, stressful and exhausting this was. I will tell you the saving grace, though. At the end of each session of hysterical crying, Lana would get control of herself, and then she would point to my nose and say, in English, "mommy". And then she would ask for her "Ba". And we would go back to our seats and she sit for another while, sometimes as long as four hours, before she had another meltdown.

So, it seems I will never be her "Ma". But evidently, I can be her "mommy".

Time can do funny things when you have been awake far longer than one is supposed to be awake. Our flight didn't leave Hanoi until midnight on Sunday night - we had been awake since 6:30 Sunday morning. The exhaustion that came over us was complete - a feeling of almost madness, of desperate longing for sleep. We slept briefly in the airport in Seoul - I did not know that there was a TRANSIT HOTEL in the AIRPORT in Seoul until it was TOO LATE to be useful for us. But, for the Brubaker family and anyone else traveling to Vietnam via Korean Air- totally look into that transit hotel at the Incheon airport. Believe me when I tell you that I woke up on the floor of the airport, with drool on my face, dust in my hair, and the sad realization that I had only slept for 45 minutes. It was disheartening to say the least. (Lan probably slept for 2 solid hours on a bank of chairs in Seoul, but, she wouldn't lay down until I layed down, and in order to do that, I had to lay on the floor next to her. It was then that I wished I had purchased one of those tiny silk "sleeping bags" that are for sale all over the old quarter of Hanoi. I kept seeing them (folded up they are smaller than a tiny purse) and thinking, what is the POINT of a sleeping bag made of silk that folds up tinier than a purse? ANSWER - if you ever find yourself needing to sleep on a cold floor in a South Korean airport, that's where.)

The flight from Seoul to Chicago was better than the flight from Hanoi to Seoul. There were still many fits and rages in the bathroom, but, we each had a personal entertainment system with movies and games, which kept her at least VAGUELY interested. She didn't eat much (but, then, neither did I.) The plane was WAY TOO HOT, and I just couldn't fall asleep. Lan insisted on sleeping on me when she wasn't screaming at me in the bathroom. (I bizarre dichotomy of anger and dependency...)

We landed in Chicago and made it through immigration without any trouble. Lan did not want to allow our bags to be rechecked through to Detroit (there was angry footstomping at the bag handlers). By chance I saw a man with the name of Nguyen and address in Illinois taped to his bag, so, I asked him if he spoke Vietnamese and he looked at me like I must be crazy or dangerous, but, he nodded yes. (Thank you GOD!!) I asked him to tell Lan in Vietnamese that we had to get on one more airplane, but that it would be short and when we got off we wouldn't get on another airplane for a very long time. The man looked EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE with this request, but, he leaned down and said something to Lan in Vietnamese. She gave him a look like she wanted to slap him and stormed off to grab David's hand. I thanked the man and he shrugged. Whereever you are, Mr. Nguyen of Champaign, Illinois, I do appreciate your efforts.

When we got to the domestic gate for our flight to Detroit, we were informed that the plane that was supposed to take us to Detroit was stuck in Minneapolis. THAT was when I lost my mind, I think. I started crying HUGE sobs of exhaustion and frustration. HOW can you get us 9,000 miles, from the other side of the planet, ON TIME, but, can you NOT GET US FROM CHICAGO TO DETROIT? It was not pretty. David managed to procure a Big Mac and French Fries (clever clever man) and a toothbrush and toothpaste, and the plane managed to arrive in Chicago (not in a timely enough manner to get 31 angry New Orleans Saints fans to their connecting flight to Louisiana in time, however...yes, you haven't lived until you've been awake for 46 hours and are sharing a small plane with 31 New Orleaners whose team has just lost it's shot at the Super Bowl and who have just been told that they are going to have to spend the night in DETROIT because all the flights to New Orleans will have left by the time they get there. Yeah. That's fun. NOT.)

After what seemed like a year, but was really 26 hours of travel, we arrived in Detroit to find Gabriel, my sister, my mom and my step-dad. I cried again when I saw my Gabe. We got our bags and climbed into my sister's mini-van and I promptly passed out. I woke up a few minutes from our house, we ate some dinner my sister had left for us, and Lan and I and Dave were asleep by 8:00. My mom stayed the night and put Gabe to bed. Lan was up and down much of the night - we think she might have a bladder infection. I am taking her to the doctor at four pm.

I am just glad, so glad, to be home at last. (Sorry if this post is disjointed. I'm still not 100%.)

Gretchen