On My Way Back Home

Wednesday, February 25th was one of the loneliest days of my life. The ride to the airport was drawn out and emotionally exhausting. The days that led up to my departure held so much pressure. Neither Pieter nor I could wrap our minds around the fact that we would be apart for almost an entire half of a year. Our good-bye at the airport was long, but not long enough.

As I walked away to go through security, I left my husband behind and did not look back. I was afraid that if I did, the tiny bit of courage I had to go on this journey would vanish and I would run out the door into his safe arms once again. I was greeted by a kind man at security who thought I was Dutch. At that moment, I knew my journey home had begun.

Scared, I made my way to the bathroom and then to the appropriate gate where I waited horribly long to board the plane. Once I was on board, I was relieved to discover that I did not have a neighbor. I had the whole row of seats to myself. After taking a deep breath and fighting back tears, I settled in and drowned out the noise with my ear buds.

With forced confidence built, I headed into that familiar Copenhagen airport on my own for the first time. Following the arrival signs, I found myself in an empty area that I had a gut feeling I was not supposed to be in. I rushed into the bathroom acting like I had it all together, like I was totally intending upon visiting this certain restroom. I scrambled to get my new phone to work. Pieter and I had been over how to work this device several times. At this desperate time, I was afraid I was on my own and would not be able to reach him. Luckily, my text went through and my husband guided me back to where I was supposed to be.

I spent close to two hours wrestling with setting up the airport internet on my phone. I was hungry, but too stressed out to eat. For the first time it was not raining in Copenhagen when I was there, but as I watched the airplanes out the window, my eyes fogged up with tears as I realized I had no one to talk to.

The gate for my next flight could not have been further away. Boarding the plane, I dreaded being trapped in that metal tube for nine hours straight. I read the entire Scandinavian magazine before take-off. Three hours passed on that plane and each time I looked at the map on the screen I kept hoping that an intense wind would pick up and an hour or two would be deducted from this time in the air. I was exhausted, but could not sleep.

The plane was rather empty, which I appreciated. I tried hard to have a routine with listening to music, playing games on my phone, and watching movies they provided on the plane. I was learning already that the busier I was, the less time I had to think about my unfortunate situation. Keeping busy on an airplane is no easy task. There are no dishes to wash, articles of clothing to fold, or carpets to vacuum. There was no one to talk to, joke with, or lean on. This would be the longest nine hours of my life. 

For an American citizen, the process of returning to the States goes as smooth as butter onto freshly baked bread. I was through the lines in less than three minutes. I waited a while for my luggage, was sniffed by a bomb-sensing dog, and slid right through customs just like that! As I passed immigration and homeland security I prayed for the individuals going through the process my husband did. I prayed for their family members that were waiting for them on the other side that they may never see. Memories from that airport flowed through my mind all too vividly.

The scenario I had played in my mind over and over again as I tried to remain strong throughout the day finally came to be reality. My dad was there waiting for me and the relief that swept over me when I finally had someone to hug was incredible. The love, comfort, and support of my family overwhelms me.