Six years ago today we landed in London to begin our tour at the office of the Commander in Chief for the United States Navy in Europe. I remember that day--it's etched in my memory...
We landed and met a driver from the estate agency that we were letting our temporary flat from...a quiet, brooding, Middle Eastern man named...something. Mike sat in the front seat with him as he whizzed from Heathrow into the West End of London and Devyn and I sat in the back seat, her in her carseat and I clearly remember thinking how surreal this all was...how far away we were from our family, how Mike was just as happy as he could be, Devyn was completely oblivious, and I cried for the entire 20 mile trek into the city. I leaned over to Devyn, tears just pouring down my cheeks and whispered, "We'll be ok"...looking back I told her that to vocalize it--to convince not her, but myself, that we would be ok. I didn't believe it, but saying it outloud made it more of a possibility.
The flat at 79M York Street was teeny, as are most flats in London, but our bed, holy moses...that bed rocked. I have no recollection of what we did that day...I think we walked to a little market on Baker Street and bought the essentials...coffee, creamer, cereal, milk (that the next morning we would discover was completely different from any milk we'd ever encountered because sitting on TOP of the milk was the cream...non-homogenized milk thank you very much). We went to sleep that night--or Mike and Devyn went to sleep--and I sat in the family room flipping channels and writing in my journal. I found Ally McBeal on the telly around 12 am and happily watched, thinking, "Ok, I've found a link to home...this is a step in the right direction". I called my daddy that night, crying the whole time, thinking how badly I wanted to go home. It honestly was an ache--a physical pain that just consumed me. I finally fell asleep that night...it was a long, long night.
More days like that would follow where all I wanted was to just go home. Just get a cab to Heathrow and buy a ticket. Things slowly got better and I found little joys in random things--this yogurt I'd buy at the market that had yogurt on one side, and the most wonderful little "add-ins" on the other--the BEST was the Raspberry Pavlova--Raspberry yogurt with white chocolate bits to mix in. I found myself looking forward to those every night. Hey, you find happiness in little things, right? I remember after we'd been there for about 5 days, Mike was at work and Devyn and I ventured out--we landed at the Marylebone Train Station and wandered into a little store called Cards Galore--the British version of Hallmark. Of all the things we had packed, clothes, toys, neccessities to last us the 5 weeks until we got our stuff, we had forgotten a lovie for Devyn. She focused on this little tabby colored kitty and I couldn't say no to her--we were crossing Marylebone Road when I asked her what the kitty's name was and she proudly announced: "NUMMY"! Nummy has been her constant companion ever since.
Those first days and weeks and months in London were difficult for me at best. However, I would not trade them for anything this world has to offer. Those days caused me to lean on my husband, something I had rarely done, for support. Not once did he ever tell me to "Get over it" or to "Suck it up" when I was having "a day". That's one of the most amazing things he's ever done for me, and he's done quite a lot of amazing things.
I sat on the porch at our home before we left for England and looked at the dark Virginia sky and pleaded with God. I asked Him specifically, "What could you possibly have to teach us THERE that you can't teach us HERE"? Here's a hint: EVERYTHING. I learned a very important lesson through this (well, a lot of lessons actually): Don't ever ask God questions. He'll answer them.
I cried the entire flight from our home to DC where we boarded another plane bound for London. I cried the entire flight from DC to London. I cried on the ride from Heathrow to our flat, and I cried for the better part of the next six months. I got over it. There were a few moments, actually huge occurrences that God used to smack me in the head as if to say "Girl. Do you KNOW how blessed you are"? Thankfully, I got it. I fully realized how blessed I was and I got over it. And then, 25 months later, I cried on the way to Heathrow, and I cried on take-off. I cried throughout the flight, thinking how far we had come...we came to England a disjointed family of three, not really knowing where any of us belonged, and we perservered and not only that, we thrived, and fell in love with our home...we left England a family of four, a strong intertwined force to be reckoned with. Briefly, here's a list of things we took with us :
a love for fresh cod and chips
a love for Regents Park and specifically the Boating Lake and Queen Mary's Rose Garden
a love for Magnum Bars
a love for John Lewis Department Store (maybe that's just me)
a love for Hamley's Toy Shoppe (the craziest seven floors of controlled chaos one has ever encountered)
a love for Footie (soccer--and OH YES...Alan Shearer)
a love for 201 Waterdale Manor House, 20 Harewood Avenue, London, NW1 6JX ( our home for two years)
a love for our adopted homeland
a renewed love for our natural homeland
a thriving and living love for each other
I am so thankful for the past six years and specifically for those 25 months we were ex-pats. It was incredible and often I find myself longing for that time again, but I wouldn't trade our lives now for anything. We are where we are supposed to be, and I am thankful and beyond blessed.
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