Travel Post 10 pt 2

This is the summation of our trip to Ethiopia, where our travel ends and our life begins. The first portion of our trip  home was no roll of injera piece of cake, but the fresh hell that awaited us in the JFK airport. Shew.

By the time that we landed in New York we couldn't remember the last time that we had slept. Andrew was continually getting sicker. Boohoo just kept amping herself up. I was beyond desperate, but still trying to push it all away because I wasn't home yet. I couldn't let go yet.

As we were leaving the airplane we realized that Boohoo's diaper was leaking out onto her clothes and staining and stinking. I wrapped her in my (lightweight) jacket and carried her out of the plane and into the United States. Welcome "home", baby. And by home I mean a country that you've never thought of, dreamed of, or wished to visit where no on understands you, you're scared out of your ever-loving mind, and nothing makes sense.

So, Andrew and I hightail over to customs to try and not have to wait in line. I don't know what we were hurrying for because we had nothing but time. I'm pretty sure I remember a sign saying the government equivalent of "No Cutting" but Andrew gets in line and I take Boohoo to the bathroom to change her diaper and clothes. That is sooooo easy to do with a toddler who hates you, doesn't want you to touch them, help them, do anything for them, or let go of them. I remember how much time I put into picking out an outfit for her to come home in and I was trying to change her into it, or out of it. I don't remember. I couldn't remember then either. I was so flustered, so flabbergasted. I remember wondering how I could have ever thought it was important when at that moment I couldn't have cared less. I could have gone all "Emperor's New Clothes" on people and given the finger to anyone who dared to look at me funny. It didn't matter.  We go back and we "cut" in line anyway, there weren't that many people and we get in line with Andrew.

I remember a vague problem. I can't recall what it was. Maybe we got in the wrong line? Maybe it was a problem with someone in front of us? Maybe it was a misunderstanding between us and the customs agent? I don't remember. I remember more stress because surely we didn't have enough. I remember Andrew and I snarking at each other a little bit, but being too exhausted to really put our hearts into disagreeing. I also remember something weird about our luggage, but I have no idea what it was. It involved being wrong, being confused, and being tired. I do remember a burst of excitement and gravity when we went through customs.

We were here. We had done it. We had gotten her to the United States. We wanted to be happy and I think deep inside we were, but it meant nothing to her, and there was so much more in the front of our minds...like surviving.

We had a seven hour layover in JFK. Seven hours. I have never experienced a worse seven hours of my life, ever ever ever ever ever EVAH!!!!! Boohoo fell apart and I couldn't take anymore.

My first real memory is trying to get something to eat. Andrew was so sick that he was barely upright at this point. I was holding Boohoo, of course, as well as wearing a big heavy backpack, and carrying a purse. Boohoo was so upset. She was wiggling and fussing and trying to get down and crying and whining. It was awful. I'm seriously sitting here on my couch seeing myself holding my daughter in front of a fast food restaurant in the terminal. She's crying. I called my mom to tell her that we were there and I just started bawling. I couldn't keep it in anymore. I know that I scared my mom. She did the mom-thing and tried to boost me up and put me back together again over the phone. We hung up and I think I might have eaten a little. I don't remember. Boohoo wouldn't eat anything. Andrew was too sick to eat. Almost immediately after the phone call ended we ran into a couple that we had met on the way out and they had adopted a stupid baby. The had him in a Beco snuggled up against her chest and he was snoozing and their trip in was "perfect" and he was "wonderful" and they were so happy and proud. They smiled at Boohoo and told us how pretty she was and she tried to climb out of my arms and get this woman to hold her. I wanted to hand her over and wish them all good luck, but I didn't.

My phone rang and gave me a wonderful break before I became physically violent with those stupid people. It was my dear dear dear, most loved friends/pseudo-parents/youth pastor, Mark & Jen. My mom had called them and told them that I was a raving lunatic (or something to that effect). They called and tired to soothe me, make me laugh, pray with me over the phone. They are the best people and have the best family that I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. I love them beyond words and without them, I literally, would not be here. They rock. So they talked to me and I did what I had to do. I kept going.

Did I mention that we had a SEVEN hour layover? SEEEEEEEVVVVVVVEEEEEN! That was about six hours too long. What makes it even more frustrating is that our own Metropolis is barely seven hours away from New York. I would have paid approximately 1 million dollars to rent a car, strap her down in a carseat and just drive home while she screamed bloody murder. It would have been about ten hundred times easier than what we did. SEVEN hours. Seven! AHHHHHHHHH! Sorry, I'm just having a PTSD meltdown over here. No big deal. I'll get back to you in a few months. Okay. I have pulled my big girl panties over my head and I'm going on.

We walked to the farthest end of the terminal and sat down. We were by ourselves. Andrew was feeling really really bad at this point. He was basically slumped in his seat immobile. Boohoo stayed in the nearby vicinity of us for awhile and then she started wandering off. It was my job to tail her. That was okay until she started going over to the venders and ripping things off of their shelves. I tried to distract her/stop her without making a big deal of it, but she wasn't having anything to do with that. So, I picked her up and took her away.

At that point her script read "Cue murderous rage" and so she did.

Before I realized this was going to be a multiple hour fit I just took her back to where we had been sitting and where Andrew was near-death/guarding our bags. Well, our little section of chairs now included two older African American women, they were probably both in their fifties, and they disagreed with me holding my screaming child. They started talking to me, super helpful things like:

She just wants down.
She just wants to see things.
She's not going to hurt anything, just let her be.
Blah blah blah. Disapproving look, muttered comment to each other.

I'm not saying anything. I'm just trying to be nice, trying not to cry.

And then they say, "Just tell her she's allowed to look, but not to touch anything."

To that I finally had to reply. I looked at them and said, "She doesn't speak English."

And they did this half-laugh and rolled their eyes like I was just some know-it-all young mom who couldn't raise a child half as well as they had raised their own and wouldn't listen to wisdom. They obviously thought that I was joking like it was some kind of broad social commentary on raising a strong-willed toddler. No, I was really serious ladies, SHE DID NOT SPEAK ENGLISH. Eventually, they were so disgusted by us that they found somewhere else to sit on a tack and other people to help judge. As you can imagine, to experience that at that point in time was pretty awful.

I couldn't really dwell long on it because her tantrum was only getting louder and louder. There were a few moments where I was able to put her down and without going into detail her behavior was completely inappropriate and I had to pick her up again. Then they opened up the gate where we were sitting and so it started to fill up with people waiting to catch their flight and so I needed to move out of there.

I moved all the way down to the very end of the terminal where it was just me and the janitor and some businessman trying to sleep. Boohoo at this point was screaming, hitting, kicking, wailing, biting, flailing, out of control. I did the only thing that I could do I held her, and I cried, and I talked to myself (she was screaming too loudly to hear  me) and I quoted the only verse I could remember over and over again.

"Proverbs 3:5-6 'Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him and he will direct your path.'" It was the only thing I remember. I said it over and over and over again. Out loud. Crying my eyes out. Holding my daughter who was screaming her lungs out. I paced in a circle and said it over and over and over again.


I did that for three hours.

After three hours her screeching and fighting had been subdued to clinging whimpers and the occasional moan. They opened up that gate as well and so we were kicked out by default, but she was calm enough that it was okay. We checked back in with Andrew who was still feeling like death, but maybe a little better. Who still couldn't really move around though so he kept watch over the bags some more and I started bigger loops around the airport, making circles around the entire "wing" of the airport. I was so tired. I remember how heavy she was, and how thirsty I was, and how much my arms hurt and my feet hurt. I was just exhausted. It was awful awful awful. I walked that loop for another 90 minutes, around and around.

I circled back to Andrew again and he was starting to feel little bit better. We figured he just had some kind of "travel bug". He ate some crackers and took some Excedr!n Migraine, and I bought him some Dramamine. We made our way over to our gate, finally. She started up fussing again when we were in line to board and everyone was staring at us warily. Andrew and I made some loud comments about "just back from Ethiopia" and people seemed to cut us some slack. We were on a stinking tiny little prop-plane for the ridiculously short flight home. Boohoo was a "lap child" for that flight, but thankfully the flight was pretty empty and either no one had the seat next to us or we scared them to the back of the plane. She fought about being buckled in, but she fell asleep in about 90 seconds. I just sat there, shell-shocked.

We landed in Metropolis. All I wanted was to see Peanut and Pickle, desperately. At the time Peanut was 3.5 and I had been so worried about leaving my sensitive souled son, and Pickle was a baby, not even seventeen months old yet. We didn't have a welcoming party at the airport even though I thought that it always looked so fun! and great! and three cheers for adoption! I'm sure it was best that we didn't, but I miss the idea of it. My mom was there with my boys and that was enough. They were happy to see us, for sure, but they were shocked and confused too. They were just babies who had never been without me for even a night before and then I had just been gone. We got hugs and kisses and confused glances as they looked between me and my mom. Even over the next few days they would turn to my mom sometimes instead of me. It wasn't a big deal, or a big problem, but I saw it and it was just that many more little stabs to the heart. I don't think that I have a single picture of our "homecoming". Maybe my mom does on her camera. I guess I should check. Just about as soon as I actually got inside the walls of my own house, I came apart. I really did, my brain froze and my heart shattered. I was Mombie, the Mom-Zombie.

And thus began our life together as a family of five.

I want to say this is Customs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Welcome to the United States, baby.  Have a chicken nugget.

 

Sleeping on the way to Metropolis.

Travel Post 10 pt 1

I have put this off as long as I can. I'm starting this tonight is two weeks short of a year though it will be finished slowly over the course of many days. I've been meaning to write it for so long. Thinking about writing it triggers panic, actually sitting here and preparing to write it has tears already started. It seems like with a year to prepare for this I could have thought to have some tissues nearby. I just posted the following on my FB page: "The house is quiet and everyone else is asleep, I'm already feeling a little emotional, and it's almost been a year. I'm going to go write the last post about our trip home from Ethiopia. This day will officially go down as one of the worst days of my life. I'll cry myself to sleep again tonight and wake up to celebrate the One who gives me hope for the morning (tomorrow is Easter)." I'm hoping to get some bolstering comments I can read during my cry-breaks to encourage me along in my fragility. 


May 6-7, 2009.

I think our flight was supposed to leave around 3. We were leaving in the first group of people to leave. We'd had our tickets "approved" by the agency for time already but then that morning we found out that they said that no one should really leave before 5. I remember not being hungry for breakfast. I was already on stress overload. Andrew was starting to feel sick. Boohoo hated us. Our van back over to the office was coming around 9 (I think) but we were never anywhere on time and this was no exception. I just wanted to go home. I was dreading the flight in a way that wasn't expressible in human terms. When we got to the office all we should have needed to do was pick up our paperwork and we should have been able to go. We decided that we were just going to send the "menfolk" in to get it and we'd all wait in the van with the kids to try and hurry it up. Well, the person that needed to be there wasn't there and then they made someone come out and tell us that we all had to come in and they wanted us to fill out surveys and they wanted us to have drinks or something. 


I remember when I had to get out of the van. I was in total furious spoiled American mode. I was so thoroughly pissed off. I couldn't take anymore. I couldn't take it. I'm sure I was rude to someone and I'm really sorry...now. We were already running late I was terrified about missing my flight. Oh, and my child hated me. I refused to fill out the survey that they wanted us to. I really really really regret that. I'd give just about anything now to be able to fill out that survey about what I thought about our time in country. Don't get me wrong, I loved Ethiopia. It was my daughter and the agency and the care center and the trip that I had issues with. I remember Andrew could tell that I was about 1/10th of a second away from exploding and he was patient with me and encouraging. I don't remember if I was mean to him in response. His face in this moment when he sticks his head back into the van is one of the few memories that I can conjure up and remember the exact moment. I remember how weary he looked and how he was trying to be calm and nice, for me. He tells me that we won't be late, that it will be fine, that I can do it. One more time he was strong for me when I was crumbling.


We finally got out of there and through the traffic and to the airport where we were unceremoniously let out in the parking lot at the mercies of the baggage-helpers. They piled all our luggage together while we were trying to protest because at the end of the trip we didn't have the right denominations of money. Andrew and I had WAY too much. We just had huge bills which we ended up giving them and just paying the tip for everyone. 


Then we got inside. We were on the same flight to Dubai with one other couple. I think another two couples were going somewhere else. I was holding Boohoo because she wouldn't let Andrew even touch her by now. I had a sling nad I put her into it because once we were inside we had to wheel all our luggage ourselves, we needed to exchange money, get our tickets, get to the gate, etc. It was lots of lines and I needed to keep her close to me. I put her against her will into the sling. She was pushing against me and fussing and trying to put as much distance between us as possible. We were both pretending that our hearts weren't breaking. 


We went to the first money exchange place and there was a guy in there but they were apparently closed and he couldn't help us. He said that he wasn't even sure what the exchange rate was, but he promised that it was better than the rate that we could get from the banks inside, but we'd have to wait for them to open back up and he wasn't sure when that was going to be. He was also the first one to tell us that we had more money than we'd be able to take home with us and we had to exchange it or it could be confiscated. We don't have the time to just wait indefinitely for it to open back up and he tells that we can always come back after we get our tickets and then we can exchange the money. We decide to go through and then come back. 


We continue on and get our tickets. Boohoo gets madder and madder about the sling. Andrew and I have small spat about whether or not I should take her out of the sling that she is more vigorously protesting about. She is so heavy and awkward to carry and I'm the only one who can carry her, but I do take her out of the sling because she's being so difficult. We go through security. Of course, once you go through security you can't go back through which means that the guy at the money exchange place was wrong. We can't get back to him to exchange any money. 


Once we arrive onto the terminal we're surprised to see that basically everything is closed. I don't remember why, maybe we never knew. There are a ton of stores and restaurants and banks and they're closed. There was one bar open and one store. There was no where for us to exchange any money. Did I mention that we had WAY TOO MUCH? And so now we're worried about having the money confiscated at customs because it's enough money to make us nervous. We sit down in a row of chairs in this hallway. There's nowhere to go. Nothing to do. I try to give Boohoo something to eat from the stuff I brought. She refuses to touch any it, but begs cookies from the other couple we're with and gives flirty smiles to a stranger with a water bottle. When I give her the cup I brought for her she wants the lid taken off. I take the lid off for her and she dumps the water all over the floor. 


Andrew goes off to find out what we're going to do about this (one and only time) that we have too much money. I'm so angry that he gets to go by himself. It's not like he can do anything about it but it just makes me furious. He finds out that each person is allowed so much money. We give each person that we're traveling with some of our money to carry for us. Andrew and some of the others go off to the bar that's open and Andrew buys lunch for everyone to spend some more money. Again, I'm so angry, not at him, just at everything. He comes back from his lunch and I can see that it did him good though and I remember feeling relieved about that. I took Boohoo to the bathroom where she refused to use the potty and screamed when I changed her diaper. 

Andrew went into a very tiny gift shop, the only one that was open, to buy stuff. He comes back with some nice things and tells me that I need to go and look around. I'm feeling stressed out and difficult and I just want to sit in the uncomfortable chair. I'm afraid to take Boohoo into a store. I'm afraid to interact with her. He's insistent and so we go in. I find some really nice jewelery and we buy it. We buy an awesome pillow (currently on our couch) and a few other little things. By then it's time to go through another security screen and to the spot where we wait for our flight. I could have bought more stuff. I wish the other stores had been open. I wish we could have done more shopping IN Ethiopia. Heck, there's a lot of things that I wish. All in all though, I was glad that we did do some more shopping in the airport.

It wa finally time to go to the boarding area of the airport. It was just a little separated area with more chairs to sit in. Boohoo was really getting agitated. We were all getting agitated. This is one of the memories that I will never forget. Every white person in that boarding area was holding an Ethiopian child. It made me so angry on behalf of Ethiopia. I don't see how an Ethiopian sitting there could have been anything less than disgusted with the entire situation. I think what made it worse was that there was only one or two children that were older than Boohoo. The rest were babies, little babies.

I don't remember a lot from this first flight to Dubai. I remember Boohoo getting a little more scared, which in this case made her a little easier to handle. We bought her her own seat even though with her (incorrect) age that we had she could have flown as a lap-child. I am SOOOO glad that she had her own seat. I totally recommend that. She didn't want to be buckled up but they made us put her in her seat and buckle her. The Emirates staff brought out this strange little pack of baby-care items, which we handed over to her and let her mess around with until we took off. 

The most random thing that we had happen to us was that a man from South Africa who was in the middle section, a row behind us, struck up a conversation with Andrew. He talked about Boohoo and how beautiful she was and kept tellling Andrew how much he liked children and that he would like to visit us in the United States and trying to get Andrew to tell him our address. Andrew declined and tried to cut off the conversation. We're pretty sure that he was drunk, but it was very weird.

We thought that we were landing in Dubai, but that only some of the passengers were getting off the plane and that we were staying on and then they'd reload/refuel and we'd be off again. We were excited about that because who wants to traipse through an airport with a child? Well, that was wrong. Boohoo eventually slept (thanks to a little antihistamine helper) but she fell asleep shortly before we ended up having to get off the plane. I remember trying to stand up with her so carefully to keep her asleep, but seriously, did I think that I was going to get that lucky? I'm leaving out a lot of tense moments of traveling with a toddler who hates you, but those  have just all blended together. We were simply thankful that she wasn't screaming.

Not only did we have to get off the plane in Dubai, but we had a very short time before our next flight. We had to go through the far from friendly Dubai airport again and because we were just that lucky we had to go through security again! This should have been totally unnecessary since we were simply changing planes, but while we were in Ethiopia there was that bombing in New York and the man responsible for that had been on the exact same flight that we were taking so security had been stepped up. We had to walk through the scanner thing, our bags were scanned and they confiscated the majority of our coffee (which I have not forgiven them for yet) and then we all got a pat-down.

Andrew had his groping out in public, but in order to preserve my honor I was taken into this little changing-room like pod with Boohoo and a beefy Arabic woman in a security burqua to be felt down and up. It was rather intimidating. She asked me "yours?" and indicated to Boohoo. I was a little afraid that she'd be confisicated with my coffee beans and that these were actually security agents with an Ethiopian fetish. I said yes she was mine (in a broad manner of speaking), but I didn't feel like it was a good time for jokes. She tried to smile at Boohoo while she was feeling her up and down, but Boohoo wasn't buying it either. She was probably pretty tired of being manhandled by strangers at this point and even I seemed like a good bet compared to Ms. Quarterback. We hustled out of there as quickly as possible and commenced more waiting.

I'm going to have to try and get Andrew to write down his recollections of this stuff because his memory is much better than mine.

The flight from Dubai to JFK is really long. Let me just put that out there. It didn't seem quite as long when we weren't traveling with a toddler, but holy moly. It was a long flight back. Really, besides the constant level of heightened stress so that you feel like any minute you might puke, have your heart explode, and then your entire body burst into flames it wasn't a bad trip.

The first part of this flight was probably our best traveling time. We (again) had all three seats on the side of the plane. Andrew was on the aisle, Boohoo was in the middle, and I was at the window. When we got to our seats she was pretty excited, as in overstimulated, overtired, slightly manic kind of way, but she was handling it fairly well. The flight attendents brought us all warm washclothes and she thought this was the. best. thing. ever. It was so funny. She washed her face and her hands about a million times and then she started washing our hands for us (she even touched Andrew and allowed him to talk to her) Please keep in mind however that I am the only one who has held her, carried her, fed her, changed her, helped her for over 48 hours already though. After she decided that we were clean enough she started wiping up the seats and the armrests. She was very enthusiastic and animated about the whole thing. When they came back by to collect the washclothes we refused to give them back because she was still entertained.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I felt underprepared as far as the amount of toys and food and such that I had brought with me. She did like one of the foods I had brought...I can't currently remember what it was...but she was eating all of it and I was afraid we were going to run out. She didn't like any of the toys that I had brought (or more likely she just didn't like me and wouldn't have liked anything that I had) and Andrew had an ipod, but he didn't really know how to use it yet and it was vastly underutalized. lol.

She slept just a little little bit on this long long flight. She needed her foul foul diaper changed several times in the teeny tiny bathroom and everytime I had to go to the bathroom she had to come with me. Those bathroom trips were stressful. We let her play with everything in the seats, touch everything in the seats, etc. We tried to get her interested in a movie, but that was short lived. She went through several very restless phases and there was just nothing that we could do to entertain her. She ate off all of our plates when we were served food, but I basically wasn't able to eat anything. She was so bouncy and in my personal space (not in a good way) that I couldn't eat. Andrew was continuting to feel sick and so he wasn't eating that much either. Getting her to drink was almost impossible. She hated the "sippy" part of sippy cups, but no exaggerating if we took the lid off she would spill it EVERYWHERE, and a lot of the time it was on purpose. When it was the appropriate time again we tried to get her to sleep with a little more help, but it didn't work that time and she just carried on as she was. But if she wasn't sleeping than no one was sleeping. So, I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't eating.

And then we landed in JFK and our world officially imploded.

Flashback 9

This is not a nice post. Just to put it out there in advance this is the post where I finally let the crazy out and admit that I want to leave Ethiopia without my daughter. Nice, huh? I'm classy like that. Present me with a challenge and I show my true colors as a great big chicken-faced-coward who wants to run away.

I think that the desire to do that was mostly not real. I mean, the feelings were real, but I don't think that I would have done it even if it had been presented to me as an option. I was still under the impression that things would rapidly get better at home.

I have since learned the name of the woman who was helping us, but maybe she doesn't want to be named on my blog so I will call her Angel (just to fit in with my general theme of melodrama). She kept telling us to call Holt, call Holt, talk to someone. At the time I thought she was just being nice. Looking back now for the first time I'm realizing that maybe instead of feeling supported I should have felt *alarmed* by that. Like she was looking at what I was looking at and seeing the same things I was seeing, but she knew even better than me what we were in for. What can I say? I'm not known for my brains.

When we got back into the vans to go shopping she sat near me (this was not the first time) and encouraged me that it was going to be okay, that it was okay to be having a terrible time with my daughter, and that I should call Holt. I guess maybe it should be encouraging that she thought that something could come from that call, she obviously believed that someone in Oregon could do something for me.

We never did call. I wish that we would have, from an academic sense, to see what they would have told me, what they possibly could have done. I think that would have been a telling phone call to any agency.

Travel Post 9

Flashback 8

These days aren't getting any easier. It's also not much easier to read about them a year after the fact than it was to write them. I guess I have a little more steel in my spine because I've survived a year at this point, but it still breaks my heart. I'm still working on the last post, the travel home post, and it's almost more than I can handle. Anyway. I think the byword for this day's adventure would be: ANXIETY.

Travel Post 8

Flashback 7

This is the point when our trip really started to go downhill. I was worried that this was going to happen, out of all our visits with Boohoo the one on Saturday had been our best one, but then we didn't come to see her on Sunday. I was afraid that she was going to hate us. Truthfully, I don't think that it made any difference at that point. It's easy to point fingers and say "THAT is the one experience that gave us attachment problems!" But that's ridiculous. It was every monumental change in environment and caregiver that she experienced in the first critical three years of her life and not the one day absence of two strangers that made her hate us.

At any rate, this is where I start talking about how monumentally hard it was to visit our daughter. Why I tried not to cry during our visits, cried my eyes out in the privacy of my room afterward, and felt monumental relief everytime we'd go shopping or sightseeing.

I remember this visit so well. It's probably as clear in my mind as the day that we met her. She was so pathetic to look at, it was heart breaking. She clung to me even though she didn't want me to touch her, she shrieked when Andrew came near her after that one picture we have. She wouldn't play, she wouldn't talk, she wouldn't smile, she wouldn't look. She was trying to be invisible.


Travel Post Seven

Flashback 6

I still liked Durame. I love the African countryside. Addis Ababa was very neat in it's own right and I do wish that I had been able to explore more there, but it's the trip to/from Durame that makes me want to give Ethiopia to my daughter. I loved Durame. The hotel was rough, sure. The food was (for me) basically inedible, and the bed was not comfortable. But really, it wasn't that bad. While my husband still swears he was attacked by mosquitos I don't think he even had one bite to substantiate his claims and I never saw one!



Travel Post 5

Flashback 5

I'm going a little bit out of order here because it's Sunday and Sunday was the day that we met our daughter's mother. It kills me, the loss in adoption, it's brutal. My daughter lost her mother, a woman lost her daughter. I have my mother and I have her daughter. I don't understand life.

We know so little about Boohoo's history, we know so little about her mother. We met with her, we held hands, we looked into each other's eyes, we shared pictures of Boohoo, we asked questions and we got (some) answers. We also got about a million more questions. Even with all the answers in the world it doesn't change what has happened and that we weren't there to see it, that Boohoo isn't there anymore, and that all of our lives have been inexplicably changed. Forever.







Travel Post 6