Chapter 37

The year 2016 was the year of firsts. First of everything without Roma inhabiting the same world with me. The first Mother’s day, his first birthday in Heaven. The holidays when the remaining kids returned home and his absence was brutal. All the social media memories ambushed me, but for which I was so grateful. When the anniversary of “his fall” and the date he was declared . . . no longer a resident of earth, I braced myself for the memories I knew would be coming. Another miraculous thing happened: Pink roses again began blooming on my red rose bush. In December, in Maryland. I took pictures again and joyfully shared on Facebook, reminding everyone that God had not left me. People sent me photos of pink roses from all across the country, and beyond. I was too thrilled with God’s loving intervention to mourn the milestone of one year without Roma. I realized then, and resolved to always remember I would never be without Roma. My faith had, paradoxically, increased. I could still find so much joy surrounding my God-given son. I praised God for his mercy and loving kindness.

For my Christmas present in 2016, Bruce gave me my heart’s desire–plans to finally go to the Republic of Georgia and meet our family there in person. A strange thing happened during that year of highest highs imaginable, finding them miraculously after 13 years, and lowest lows possible, mourning the loss of our beloved, shared Roma. We became family.

With their recommendations for desirable months to travel, we began to devise a plan to travel in June. Lia was helping on her side, searching for a tour guide who spoke English. She knew we would want to see as much of her beloved Georgia as our nine days could afford. Georgia is 26,911 square miles, less than half the size of the state of Georgia, but she assured us there was much to see.

I bought our plane tickets two months ahead, the time suggested for optimal pricing. A week before we traveled, Bruce was looking over our itinerary. He calmly said (because Bruce is always calm), “You have us booked us to return in July instead of June.” 
Hoping he was kidding, I swung around and checked his face. A panic rush had me on my feet and looking over his shoulder to read from his computer in disbelief. Sure enough, our return flight was on the second Monday in July instead of June. I scanned the email for an emergency number for Qatar Airways.

I dialed and explained my error. On speaker phone, we listened while I prayed there would be two seats available for June 12. There was a pause, and my contact eased my fears. Yes, no problem, the same flight number, 707, had seats available for June 12.

“There is a change fee,” the polite, accented gentleman continued. “Let me calculate that for you.”

“Oh don’t bother yourself with that little unpleasant detail,” I wanted to plead, but instead, “Oh Lord, please don’t let it be a lot” was all I had time to pray before the gentleman continued, “That will be an additional $485 per ticket,” I gasped as he calculated, “for a total of $970. Can I book that flight for you now?” 

I couldn’t make eye contact with my husband who had just heard the whole conversation. 

“Yes.” I answered quietly. Lord help me make up that money that I so carelessly wasted.

“Well, the gentleman returned, “This flight is actually a cheaper flight. You will save $110 per ticket for a total of $220 discount.” 

“Great! Thank you.” Oh joy, only $750 to recoup. I’m not sure Bruce understands my accounting system, but he didn’t get mad at me, because Bruce never gets mad. We had learned very vividly that a problem that can be solved by money alone, even money we couldn’t afford to waste, isn’t a real problem.

I don’t know what I was anticipating when Bruce and I left for the Republic of Georgia on the evening of June 2, 2017. We were finally going to meet Roma’s birth family, two and a half tumultuous years after finding them, one and a half years of grieving with them from afar.  

I had high expectations about this upcoming trip, but I couldn’t define what they were. Where my expectations reasonable? Of course not. I was used to expecting and receiving miracles. If Roma were to approach us there, with his big Roma grin, arms wide open, on the steps of an ancient monastery on a snow capped mountain top, I doubt it would shock me. I went with an expectation, maybe not of seeing Roma, but of seeing God. 

Of one thing I was certain. We were about to embark on a sacred pilgrimage. One we had to take for redemption and healing, to complete a circle of love, love for a family who shared the common bond of a boy who, aside from his sister, they would now never know on earth. We had sent some of his ashes home to his family a year earlier, to rest beside his father who was as dear to them as his son was to me. Now we would follow him.

We found Roma’s birth sister, Liana, in the closing hours of 2014. His father’s first cousin, Lia, began messaging me in early January, 2015, ecstatic of the discovery of her beloved cousin’s lost son. She opened a door to a mystery of Roma’s larger, close-knit, extended family in a country I couldn’t have previously found on a map. We rejoiced the unlikely discovery together, almost 6,000 miles apart. I knew finding this family was a needle in a haystack, and an essential missing puzzle piece of Roma’s wholeness and identity. I knew I loved them in their first grateful communications.

Then, less than a year later, we grieved the unthinkable, as a fatal work accident took the life of beautiful, vivacious Roma, the young man who represented so much love and hope to two families who reached across a vast, impossible chasm for comfort. 

Some people asked why we were traveling to Georgia instead of Russia, where Roma was born and lived, where we had traveled fifteen years earlier. Roma never crossed the Caucasus Mountains into Georgia to the south. It is political, as so many issues in the world are today. Georgians cannot freely travel across the Russian border to the north, over the formidable Caucasus Mountain range. But Russians can travel unimpeded into the Republic of Georgia. Liana, Roma’s sister, and her family, still residing in Russia, would travel to Georgia to meet us. 

On May 29, four days before we left, I got a message from Lia saying they had another option for our driver/tour guide. The one they had recommended originally, and we had accepted, was charging $1300 for five days. Two of the nights, not consecutive, would be spent at guest houses hours from Tbilisi. So we accepted the fee. Lia was apologetic about the high price, but we assured her we wanted to see all we could of Georgia, and we had been saving our money. (I didn’t mention that I had carelessly lost much of it by my careless mistake in booking.)

Now, four days before our departure, they had an alternate driver, another friend of the family, and his fee was $700. SEVEN hundred, which alerted me to God’s intervention right away. I tacked  that saved $600 in my “recouped money” column, with a remaining balance of $150, which I was willing to write off, as a fair penalty for my mistake.  

Then the countdown began in earnest.

We left our house in suburban Maryland, an hour drive to Dulles International Airport, just before 5 pm, heading into some of the nation’s worst traffic. We allowed plenty of time for our 9:30 flight. It seemed like such an ordinary beginning for a sacred pilgrimage. 

The many calls and messages I received revealed that others also had mysterious expectations about this trip. “Post pictures when you can,” and “I can’t wait to hear more,” and “I’ll be praying for you.” dinged my phone all day. Friends who had joined our story and wanted more of it, more illustrations of God. It was as if they were expecting the same thing I was–for God to accomplish only what He could in Georgia. 

So I went with expectations of the miraculous. Nothing less. I have grown accustomed to miracles. I have become acquainted with a Loving God who is always present and active. And often He has a sense of humor. And sometimes He shows off.

God heard my prayers and those of my many prayer warriors. He was not going to disappoint any of us. 

Continue with Chapter 38