Children of Dreams, An Adoption Memoir Read online

  I was excited to have Jenni Murphy join me on the trip. Bright and inquisitive, Jenni embraced the diversity of Vietnamese culture in a way that amazed me. Every meal was a new adventure for her in tasting the exotic. On a practical level, she became quite adept at reading Vietnamese maps—a good thing, since I was notorious for getting us lost.

  I hope someday God will use the trip to reveal Himself to this talented young lady who is trained in film production. God never wastes or squanders opportunities to teach us something we wouldn’t otherwise learn.

  The big day finally arrived. We took two cars from Gainesville to Jacksonville. Curtis, Jenni, and Linsey rode in one car; Sylvia, Manisha and I followed them in the other. After stopping at a McDonald’s for coffee, we lost each other. I figured we would eventually connect somewhere along the way, but the humor of it didn’t escape me. We hadn’t gone twenty miles and were already separated. How would we ever manage not to lose each other traveling halfway around the world?

  After arriving at the airport, Jenni fixed the broken zipper on my suitcase that I had discovered shortly before leaving home. I could imagine all my clothes being strewn about in the baggage compartment of the plane at thirty thousand feet. We checked in my luggage and picked up our tickets, walked through the carry-on baggage check, and found the departure gate. Already fatigued with anticipation, we sat down in some empty seats and waited.

  Jenni, dressed casually in her red Adidas T-shirt and jeans, had her dark brown hair cut short for convenience. Unlike me with volumes of suitcases, she had only one backpack that she carried around easily on her back. Talk about traveling light, she could be in the Guinness Book of World Records.

  It was hard to believe the long-awaited moment was here. I tearfully hugged Manisha and said good-bye multiple times. I wished she could go with me. She told me later she cried all night the first night, but if she wanted a sister, there was no other way. I knew it would be hard, but it was harder than I imagined.

  The plane began boarding and we grabbed our carry-on and stood in the long line. Jenni gave her mother and father a last hug. At eighteen, she acted grown up about it, but good-byes are always hard. I gave Manisha one more embrace with tears in my eyes, offering a silent prayer that God would bring us home safely. I blew her several kisses as I stepped up to hand the attendant my ticket, waving quickly as I distractedly followed the boarding procedures. He tore the ticket in half and handed me my seat stub.

  It happened all too quickly. As Jenni and I entered the door to the gangplank, we both waved until Manisha, Sylvia, Curtis, and Linsey were lost from sight. I wanted to run back over and give Manisha one last hug. I couldn’t. If Jenni hadn’t been with me, I might have dashed back into the airport lobby throwing boarding protocol to the four winds. I might have changed my mind. I will never know. As I boarded the plane, my only reassurance was I knew God had called me to go to Vietnam and He would comfort Manisha while I was gone.

  I also knew Curtis and Sylvia loved Manisha almost as much as I did. I laughed and thought to myself, she may have so much fun she won’t want to come back home. She was getting a break from school and chores and I told Curtis and Sylvia she could watch all the television she wanted. “Uncle Curtis” was one of her favorite people. They could spend hours putting together puzzles or swimming in the local YMCA pool.

  We found our seats, 21A and B, strapped ourselves in, and readied for takeoff. Our first stop was Atlanta. In Atlanta I called my mother from one of the pay phones as we waited. It helped to pass the time which ticked agonizingly slow. I hated uncertainty and with everything that had happened in the preceding few weeks, it was hard not to worry about the future. After the hour and fifteen minute layover in the Hartsfield International Airport, we flew to San Francisco.

  In San Francisco we had two and a half hours to get a bite to eat and feel tired. From there we boarded a Cathay Pacific jet. It was a large state-of-the-art luxury jumbo jet. In three words, it was beautiful. Each of the seats in front of us had a pull-down screen with a wide variety of entertainment choices. I was fascinated with the one that showed our location in the air—our altitude, how far we had traveled, how fast we were traveling, how cold the air temperature was, the wind speed—I was mesmerized as I watched the numbers change as the plane slowly made its way toward Hong Kong.

  With air time and layovers in Atlanta and San Francisco, it was about twenty hours before we landed in Hong Kong at 6:30 in the morning on December 6. Jet lagged and fatigued, we stretched our legs. I was relieved to have landed safely on solid ground.

  Security at the Hong Kong airport was tight, which reminded me of when I traveled to Israel. In New York’s LaGuardia, before they would let me board the El Al plane, I had been pulled out of the line and drilled for over an hour by a senior official. He along with others wanted to know why a young, blonde female, who obviously was not Jewish, would be traveling alone to Israel when the United States was fixing to launch an attack in the Middle East.

  Who had packed my bags? Had they ever been out of my sight? Where was I going? How long would I be there? I wondered why other countries had so much tighter security than the United States.

  In England I had been pulled out and frisked. In Switzerland they dumped out all of my belongings going through customs and demanded an explanation as to why I was carrying around a Nikonis underwater camera when Switzerland was in the middle of a snowstorm.

  As we all learned on 9/11, the United States was lured into a false sense of security. This day, though, things followed a logical course and after disembarking, we found a good place to eat. The airport was spotlessly clean and beautiful. After leaving customs, the crowds thinned and we were left with a feeling of wonder at the modern, white architectural design of the building. Airy and open, adorned with much Eastern-flavored artwork in the form of sculptures and paintings, the airport was a major hub for international travelers making connections on smaller carriers.

  The back side of the airport was all glass. Through the raindrops on the windows, I could barely make out the coastline of China, with the outline of huge mountains largely covered by clouds and mist. It would have been nice to see more. The little bit I could make out made me curious about what I was missing.

  Before exiting the plane, the pilot had told us there were several places travelers could go in the terminal to take a hot shower and freshen up while waiting for a connecting flight. We walked around exploring in a daze and eventually found an “oasis” for relaxation. I opted for a massage in a chair that rolled bristles up and down my back and tickled my feet. I quickly settled into a couple of hours of pampering myself and enjoying a little freedom. It seemed odd not to have to worry about anybody but myself. Jenni found several shops to buy souvenirs.

  “I am so excited,” she said several times. “Even if we turned around and went back now, just to see this has been worth it.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. She reminded me that even with weary legs, I could still feel young at heart. I had forgotten what it was like to be a college student with a zeal for the “eccentric.”

  After a hot shower, I sat down at a computer and typed some emails. I sent one to the Murphys letting them know we had arrived safely in Hong Kong and one to the adoption agency. “We’re Almost There,” I titled it. Soon it was time to leave our little pampering and board for the final leg of our journey. It was a much shorter trip to Vietnam but after flying for two days, we were both exhausted.

  Upon landing and disembarking at the Hanoi airport, we stood in a long line to retrieve my bags. As we were waiting, we met two other women from Canada that were also adopting. Their adoptions required two visits and they were on their return trip to complete the Giving and Receiving Ceremony. They had already met their new daughters a few weeks earlier.

  After going through customs and finding all of my bags, we dragged everything outside into the wet, humid Hanoi air to take a taxi to the Lillie Hotel. There were many vans waiting outside the airport to provide tran
sportation for foreign tourists. We motioned for one, and a driver came over and loaded our bags into the back. I turned on the video camera as we pulled out into the overcrowded streets of Hanoi.

  It had been raining and the wet streets sprayed moisture on the cab, making everything look distorted and blurry. The roads were clogged with cars, vans, motorcyclists, bicyclists, and funny looking vehicles called xichlos. A xichlo is a three-wheeled, pedal-powered rickshaw where the driver “pumps” the rider along the road seated in the front.

  Honking horns created a cacophony of noise that screamed back at me from the past. Within me an overwhelming sense of familiarity arose as I stared out the back of the taxi. I can’t believe I am doing this again, my emotions shouted, recoiling as fear set in, and my mind, fatigued from lack of sleep, cried out, I’m in a foreign country adopting another child! Somehow out of this mix of chaos, fear, worry, and exhaustion a spirit of peace enveloped me. I knew God would be with me and would calm my anxious heart.

  The taxi driver dropped us off on Hue Street at an inexpensive hotel. Located up two flights of brown marble-like stairs, a sign written in English advertised the “Lillie Hotel” in large tan letters. A tall Philodendron in a ceramic pot stood by the stairs. At ground level beneath the Lillie Hotel was the Ristorante Roman where we frequently ate. Jenni helped me carry my bags up the stairs, and we entered through a solid glass door that opened into a sparsely-decorated, brown-tiled foyer.

  Although the hotel accommodations were rather plain, the location was attractive since Hue Street is one of the major arteries into downtown Hanoi. The hotel was also situated just a few blocks from the famed Hoan Kiem Lake, which symbolized politically and geographically the epicenter of the quaint capital of Vietnam.

  Exuding warmth and charm and more conservative than South Vietnam, Hanoi had the feeling of an old-fashion town. On the north side of the lake was a labyrinth of little shops where the storeowners sold their wares. It was enjoyable to walk along the streets strolling in and out of shops. The Vietnamese women were always ready to help me find whatever I needed with a warm smile and gentleness so characteristic of their nature. They particularly catered to Western tourists and adopting families offering baby clothes and accessories at very affordable prices.

  I was surprised by my first impressions of North Vietnam. I had expected to see more than just vestiges of communism as a result of the Vietnam War. Quite to the contrary, the Vietnamese had adopted a lot of our Western culture—selling our music, speaking our language, and owning their own shops, resulting in a vibrant, capitalistic economy. My uneducated mindset of a people living in apathy or without freedom was turned on its head as the North Vietnamese appeared to be hard-working and content. They showed an endearing love for their children, were kind to me, and harbored no ill will toward Americans.

  Against this backdrop of normal everyday life, having been a teenager at the height of the Vietnam War, vivid images from the past still lingered in my mind of the bloodshed spilled. It was hard to forget the nightly newsreels splattered across our television screens showing dead bodies blown apart. The horror of a country devastated by the ravages of war was seared into my consciousness. I didn’t expect it to affect me so deeply after I arrived.

  Everywhere were stark reminders and memorials of an era gone by. It seemed surreal to be in Hanoi. I kept waiting for a “bad guy” to show up and handcuff me. I had to remind myself that was another world, another time, and another place. A forgiving spirit over the devastation wrought on their land just a few decades earlier had brought renewal and hope. Vietnam was a land of dreams and vision for the future. Now I had come in search of mine.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  This last deception will be worse than the first

  Matthew 27:64

  December 6, 1999, 5:00 P.M.

  I felt exhilarated to have landed safely. All of our bags arrived in one piece, including the one with the broken zipper, and we checked into our room, number 504, at the Lillie Hotel without any problems. I had no tours of the red light district of downtown Hanoi as I had in Bangkok.

  Aside from being tired and hungry, my adrenaline had kicked in as I anticipated receiving my baby. I walked back downstairs to the lobby to get more information from the desk clerk on when that would be. The young woman at the registration counter knew Anne, my contact person, as many adoptive mothers had previously stayed at the Lillie Hotel. I was surprised to see the other two ladies from the airport already in the lobby. They were crowded around a young man that I did not know. The young Vietnamese lad spoke very broken English

  “Your baby be here soon,” he said to the young lady I came to know as Jackie. She had a husband and five-year-old son back home in Canada.

  So that’s how it worked, I thought. Anne had a contact person at the hotel that would have the babies dropped off after the adoptive families or mothers arrived.

  He looked at the second Canadian lady, who was an older woman, and said, “Your baby be here soon, too.”

  I was excited for them and could hardly wait to hear the same words spoken to me. My heart fluttered in anticipation to meet my new baby. This was the moment for which I had waited so long. The other mothers cleared out of my way so he could address me with news about my baby.

  “There is problem with baby,” he said to me.

  “What?” I asked. “What problem with my baby?”

  I thought he meant some sort of medical problem. My excitement to be in Vietnam and anticipation of receiving my baby evaporated into worry and fear. He started to explain more but because of his poor English I couldn’t understand most of what he said. I briefly reflected back to Nepal and how fortunate I was that Ankit spoke English so well.

  “When will I receive my baby?” I asked. I could feel my blood pressure rising as I tried to control the tone in my voice. The receptionist at the desk tried to help with translation, but the most I could get out of either of them was that he didn’t know. Anne would call me tomorrow.

  “Tomorrow?” I repeated. That was totally unacceptable.

  “Please have her call me tonight,” I yelled at him, “immediately!”

  I was visibly upset that I was talking to him and not to her. How could she do this to me? How could she not let me know what was going on and send this guy who spoke such poor English to be the bearer of bad news? Being fatigued and jet lagged from the trip did not help. I felt slighted that the other ladies were receiving their babies and I wasn’t.

  The time difference made communication back to the States difficult. It was too expensive to call so we had to rely heavily on fax and email. No one had met us at the airport and I didn’t know who this young man was that was speaking to me. In my anger the only word that seemed to fit was “crony.”

  I sent an email to Jill, the International Adoption Coordinator at the adoption agency, notifying her that we had arrived safely but there was a problem. Could she please contact Anne and have her phone me. I related to her what I knew, which wasn’t much, and asked her to please find out what was going on. Nine thousand miles away, I didn’t know what help she could be. The Midwest wasn’t that much closer to Hanoi than Gainesville.

  Because the hotel was so small, it was easy to detect other activities of the guests. I discovered the two women whom I had met earlier had their babies dropped off within the hour. I could faintly hear the sounds of a baby crying down the hallway from my room. Jenni and I sat in our hotel room not knowing what to think. I felt badly that she had accompanied me all the way to Vietnam on what was supposed to have been a wonderful experience of adoption and Vietnamese culture. We emptied our suitcases and watched Vietnamese television without interest. The excitement of being in a foreign country had lost its appeal and dissipated into emotional survival, one hour at a time.

  “Maybe we will hear something good tomorrow,” Jenni tried to encourage me.

  “Yes, maybe,” I responded, still feeling unconvinced.

  Jenni quickly dozed
off into sleep land but no matter how long I closed my eyes, my mind kept replaying the scenes of earlier in the day. At 3:30 a.m., wondering if anybody had sent me an email or fax, I gave up and went downstairs to the hotel lobby to check, but I found no faxes. I asked the night attendant if I could check my email using the computer in the internet room. In the middle of the night there wasn’t a line waiting to access it. He turned it on and gave me the password, making a note on my account to charge the nominal fee for email use. In comparison to phone calls, it was a pithy penny, but no emails had been received in my inbox either.

  I felt like we had been abandoned and forgotten. If it was 3:30 a.m. in Hanoi, it was 3:30 p.m. in Gainesville. The adoption agency would have received my fax, so why hadn’t they responded? I went back up to my room and climbed into bed.

  I finally succumbed to a restless sleep with lingering thoughts of the other women with their babies and fear that I may never receive mine. It seemed like only moments later that I was awakened to Jenni moving about in the room. My nightmare returned as I came back to reality.

  “I am going to go down to check my email again,” I told her. I grabbed some clothes, quickly dressed, and hurried back downstairs to check the computer.

  I found this email sitting in my inbox from the adoption agency:

  Dear Lori, I emailed Anne right after I got your fax. She has emailed me back and told me that she has been in touch with her staff person in Hanoi and the staff person staying at the hotel with you. Anne stated that their information regarding the birthmother is she is asking for money. Anne has not confirmed that so she did not want to inform you of hearsay until she has all the facts…it may be nothing, which she sincerely hopes is the case. She says it is a frequent occurrence with the distances and difficulties in communication to get misinformation and also for there to be last minute delays. Anne assures me that they are doing everything that they can to tend to the situation. Anne said she will inform me once she has concrete information. [The director] said that oftentimes in these situations God is given the opportunity to prove Himself strong and overcome difficult situations. We are praying for God to prevail. Jill.