It Was Never Home

Part 1

Three years and this is how it ends.  Three years and this is how it all falls apart.  If I had been paying attention, I could have heeded the warnings and kept my heart intact...  

“I’m going to need you to step aside for further processing,” the Border Patrol Agent uttered emotionlessly.  My heart was already racing after going through what seemed like the inquisition. I walked over to a chair with my luggage in tow and sat down. I tried not to look like I was uncomfortable but there were so many things racing through my mind that outside of being unconscious, there was no calming my nerves. 

After what seemed like countless hours, “Please come over this way.”  A female and male agent were standing before a long, cold, stainless steel table with blue rubber gloves, and my checked suitcase in front of them.  I was instructed to place my carry-on luggage next to it so they could search through my things. As I stood across from them, they proceeded to remove each and every item while running their hands over them. 

“What are these?!” the female agent angrily exclaimed, only adding to my humiliation. 

“Tampons,” I replied with eyes raised, somewhat sarcastically as I was flabbergasted that another woman had to ask.  The agent didn’t even reply. She merely set them down amongst the rest of my other belongings and continued to tear through the rest of my things. After they reached the bottom of both suitcases, I was instructed to place everything back inside. But the humiliation, pain, and invasion of my life were only beginning. 

Part 2

“You are being denied entry to the UK. You will be on the first flight back to the States,”  I hear being barked at me. After a grueling and miserable interrogation as to my intentions in the UK, this was it.  I hadn’t slept or eaten more than a few biscuits over the last 24 hours while I awaited my fate. The tears that had streaked down my face were immeasurable and I could feel the salt cracking slightly on my cheeks.  The pounding in my head beneath the bright, daunting lights was almost all I could hear. I tried looking up but my eyes squinted when faced with the bright lights. I felt frozen until I was called into the agents’ office. 

“You’ll be heading to Washington, DC,” I’m told by one of the male agents.  My face contorted into confusion. It was clear he understood my facial expression, “Did you not go there on your way here?” 

“No, I’ve never even been to Washington, DC.  I’m from Omaha, NE and I connected in Chicago.”  Each of the four agents exchanged perplexed looks when I was told there must have been a mistake.  They’d never send me somewhere I had never been and that it was their policy to return people to where they originated. 

I was directed back to the hard, plastic, school-like chairs beneath the suffocating bright lights to await further instruction.  The only phone in the room began to ring. I lifted the receiver and between sobs and unintelligible comments, a plan was made. Daniel and I would be going to Orlando, Florida to sort things out.  It had been 9-months since we were last able to feel each other’s embrace and this wasn’t about to prolong the distance further.  

But just when we thought things couldn’t get worse or more complicated, they did. “The next flight to Omaha will not be departing until tomorrow morning so you’ll have to stay in the overnight facility,” the male agent reports to me.  “My boyfriend and I will be going to Orlando, Florida and he wants to buy my direct flight there.”

“I’m sorry but you cannot do that. You must return from where you came,” he stated bluntly. 

“Why, if he’s going to pay for the ticket..?” I inquired.  

“It’s simply never been done that way.”

“So, just because it’s never been done that way doesn’t mean it can’t be,” I said more loudly this time as I was getting more and more frustrated than I already was.

“You’re just going to have to meet in Chicago and go from there.  You’ll need to cancel your connection flight to Omaha.” 

Once again all of my possessions were carted to another location within London Heathrow.  We climbed into a small van and drove to the overnight facility. We soon approached a tall brick wall that was surrounded by barbed wire.  The door attached to the tall brick wall began to slowly swing open. Our vehicle calmly drove through the very narrow opening exposing yet another door that was the entrance to the facility.  

Upon entering the bunk area, it looked like something off of a TV show like Girls Incarcerated, like a juvenile detention facility.  The showers were separated by partial brick walls with flimsy plastic curtains that wouldn’t fully cover whoever was using the shower.  The beds were twin sized on thin metal frames beside each other. There was a common room and a computer room.  

“Please help me.  I have been detained at London Heathrow and only have access to the computer and the internet. Please contact my dad and tell him what’s going on.  Tell him I will be going to Florida with Daniel and will call him as soon as I can,” read the frantic Facebook message I sent to a friend. Not much was accomplished during this time on the computer aside from some much-needed contact with people in my life.  I just needed to feel safe and not so alone.

 Between moments of closed eyes and creaking throughout the facility, I laid freshly showered on pins and needles waiting for the time to leave, for this nightmare to be over.  But it wouldn’t be. The nightmare was far from over.

Part 3 - add a better transition from part 2 to here

“Your Visa application has been denied.  You do have the right to appeal this decision,” were the words I read while back in my childhood room at my dad’s house, where I had to return after losing everything. 

After spending 6-months in Florida, going through the incredibly stressful application process, and a whole year of waiting, with my life on hold, only to be smacked back down by a packet of papers.  Their words were final. These were the words that sealed our fate. Our relationship was not recognized as being valid. We were not married. We never lived together.  

Three years and this is what was left, a denial, a denial that would force us to stay apart.

Marriage was the only possible way to be together.  But what kind of marriage is that, one of necessity?  With the inevitable around the corner, it was time to pull my life back together.  A cozy apartment, a successful job with a law firm, and my closest friends are what I left behind in Omaha to follow my Airman to the United Kingdom.  Surrounded by nothing but the cascading water around my body and my arms wrapped around my knees, the tears fell freely while my mind attempted to wrap itself around the reality of my life.      

Kicking and fighting, never giving up, crying and screaming, my life once again traveled to Omaha.  With the pieces of my broken heart trailing behind me, I sought to rediscover myself. Or as it turned out, truly find myself.  

With everything feeling as though it had shattered around me, depression, abuse, anxiety, and unrequited love weighing me down, the world still continued to turn.  

Seven Years Later

The road was long and winding with surprise forks in the road derailing my path and kicking me off course.  With a world upside down and a whirling vortex of scenarios constantly bombarding me from the inside tugging me in more directions than possible, about to tear me to shreds, I knew I needed help.  The loss, uncertainty, and struggle were becoming too much. My career was up in the air, my living situation was less than ideal, and my relationships with people all seemed rather tenuous.  

Diving back into the dating pool,  job searching, and just re-entering the life of a single woman had its ups and severe downs.  There were points where I wasn’t sure I could make it through it all. The world of dating has turned into a hook-up culture while my career yielded me drama, lay-offs, and inconsistency.  The pain and loneliness of the loss of the man I wanted to marry clung to me like the paralyzing frigid winter cold. 

After 4 years of bouncing from person to person, job to job, and place to place, things seemed like they might finally settle down.  I found it difficult to get excited about much anything anymore but at least I finally had a secure job. With a secure job came health insurance.  I sought out a proper therapist. I managed to be incredibly lucky and locate the perfect one for me right away.  

We began diving into my pain and struggles.  As it turns out, the loss of my relationship wasn’t even my biggest pain or issue.  It merely highlighted issues that had existed far longer than the span of our relationship or what came after it.  Out of this tragic pain and suffering came a much improved, healthier, and happier me.  

After having to unpack my possessions and be put on display, humiliated and devastated, I unpacked my internal baggage.  What transpired was not more humiliation and devastation but understanding and the necessary skills to be even stronger which opened me up to bigger and better things.   

El Fin 

OR

 The Beginning

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” I think as I feel the jolt of my body surging awake to the sound of my alarm.  With my head pounding and struggling to keep my eyes open from the prior evening’s birthday festivities, my birthday festivities, I scrambled to my window only to find that my car was not there! Having been responsible and not driven my car home, my car was still parked outside of my girlfriend’s apartment. Time was quickly disappearing and my appointment was in 45 minutes. Scooping up my phone, I noticed that the battery was angry blinking red instead of that lovely charged green color.  I quickly opened the Lyft app and requested a ride. Luckily, a driver was not too far away so I threw on some clothes, brushed my hair and teeth, and hurried out the door.

As we were approaching the entrance to the building, my phone was on its last leg. I wouldn’t be able to get a ride home. “Oh, no!” I exclaimed with my face contorted in agony. 

“What’s wrong?” the driver inquired as he put the car into park. 

“My phone has 2% remaining so now I won’t have any way to get home after this.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“It should only take a half-hour or so. I can’t imagine it would take that long to sign a few signatures.” 

“No, it shouldn’t. It didn’t take me very long when I went through it either. I could go over to the shopping center and come back in about half an hour if you’d like. Just request the ride now; I’ll accept and return when you’re finished.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much! You have no idea how much I appreciate this!” I exclaimed in complete and utter surprise. My contorted face turned to a smile as I frantically requested the ride before my phone slipped into a temporary coma. 

The day was finally here!  September 14, 2018 - “Closing Disclosure,” read the top of the document laid out before me.  The monumental moment of closing on my first house had finally come. The house was mine, and only mine.  

From losing everything, having to move back home, and having my heart shattered into a million pieces thinking I’d never be okay again, to becoming an even stronger, more confident, single, first time home owning woman! 

I owe who I am today to the journey of humiliation, pain, and loss, and my desire to fight my way through it, to come out even better. And the journey has only begun.