It was meant to be Malachi and Zachary’s last day in China and Brian was in search of a restaurant. “Cheap,” he thought, “we’ve already put so much money into plane tickets…but special.” 

Beef Noodle Soup was the perfect choice. It was a dish he’d come to love in Taiwan, where he lived and taught long ago. Preparing our boys for their first international flight alone, his mind kept drifting back to his time in Taiwan as a young man. He told our boys one story after another of how he handled different situations, but wondered, “Have I prepared them well enough?”

The next day they would board an international flight and move across the world to Canada, the country of their passport. But China has been home for 16 years.

Brian and our two tall boys had started their trip early that day and were now on a one night stopover in Shanghai. The next morning Brian would help the boys check in. They’d fly on to Hong Kong and back to Canada – their first flight without us. We spent hours figuring out what it takes to cross borders in this strange time and trying to prepare them for any challenge they may encounter.

Leaving meant in the foreseeable future they couldn’t return to the place they know as home. This isn’t how we wanted it to be, but Covid has put many of us in positions we don’t want to be in.

Brian savoured his last meal with our boys, then they headed to the street to flag down a taxi. The sun disappeared in the distance as they waited and waited. They tried hailing a taxi through an app – they waited still. 

Deep in the industrial part of the airport they were far removed from subway lines and there were no buses in sight. “We’ll have to walk,” Brian told the boys. “At least we’ll have time to talk.” They didn’t think things would get worse than a two and a half hour walk to wrap up the only day they’d ever spent in Shanghai.

Though it was raining and dark, it was still hot and the humid air hung heavy.

 I was home, trying to wrap my mind around our new reality. My two boys leaving home on the same day, both moving across the globe.  I couldn’t comprehend it. My mind flashed to babies in my arms, and pure joy. 

We’ve been waiting months for travel bans to lift so we could accompany them back to Canada and help them settle. But when reapplying for visas Malachi, now an adult, was given only 30 days. While he could have applied for another 30 days after, he decided even if we couldn’t go with him it was time to start the next chapter of his life. And we knew, as hard as it was, it was best to let Zach go too. They could support each other through this transition, as they have through countless other challenges.

Sitting in the room that until that day had been their “laboratory” or study, I wondered what to do with this new space in my life? I love being mom. Though at times it seems an impossible calling, it’s the most fulfilling role I can imagine. And as a homeschool mom of 15 years, every day is filled with kids. I thought this would change – they would grow more independent, be out more with friends. It did for a time. But with lockdowns, travel bans and friends stuck outside the country our family pulled together again. For a season, time stood still. I savoured it. Now I fought the tension of wanting my kids with me and the truth I knew in my heart – it was time for my boys to spread their wings.

When I need to unwind, creating art is my ‘go to’. Getting into that contemplative space provides me a safe place to process my feelings. I had started a drawing of a bird at rest weeks before, but from the day Malachi decided to move back to Canada my drawing sat, partially finished, and was now covered in a fine layer of dust. Each day was devoted to helping equip my two boys to successfully jump the hurdles that would allow them to enter Canada. Preparing for the many unknowns demanded all my energy.

I was exhausted but I needed to clear a space to draw, if only for a few moments. Helping the boys move out had created the remains of a tornado in our home. Now it was time for some calm after the storm. But I should check my email one more time. ‘Risk Alerts’ had been filling my inbox for days telling of new travel restrictions and I felt my palms threaten sweat each time.

I gasped. It was worse than expected. Flight HK237 to Hong Kong was cancelled. Switching back into high gear, I made a few calls but it was late. Offices were closed. There was nothing I could do until the next morning.  I didn’t know the boys were on a marathon trek from noodle shop to hotel until I called to break the news. Packing up and saying good-bye to the only life they know was hard enough. They were ready to board a plane and rest. Yet during their long, late night walk they learned their journey had just grown harder.

I woke early determined to find a way to get them to their connection, but discovered a typhoon was coming straight for Shanghai. Flying to Hong Kong was impossible – now I wanted to get them out of the path of the storm. They were ready to leave at any moment, if not by plane, by train. Beijing or anywhere close was the new desired destination but after 7 hours of phone calls and checking websites I accepted what none of us wanted – Typhoon Chanthu had locked them in.

Their flights were rescheduled for 2 days later. Sitting in the airport hotel with a view of planes parked in neat lines, they wondered if even then they could leave. They were rerouted through Beijing and then had a direct flight to Vancouver. A better scenario than before. No transfer in Hong Kong and Brian could travel one more leg of the journey with them. I had seen this flight when planning their trip, but it only went once a week and with many flight cancellations and only days on Malachi’s visa, it seemed too big of a risk. Now it was our lifeline.

A day in a new city would be fun, if not for the pandemic. The boys needed Covid tests within 72 hours of departing for Canada – the ones they had would expire. It was mid-afternoon now and the hotel staff assured them they could wait until the next morning and if the results weren’t ready in time, get them electronically. This seemed best. If, despite all our hopes, their flight was delayed again their results may still be valid.  But the next day at the hospital, after a painful nasal swab, Brian heard a common Chinese saying we never like to hear. “Mei ban fa.” There’s no way. 

You can’t argue with “mei ban fa.” It’s a dead end. Their system couldn’t accept a passport number, only local Chinese ID cards, which meant they couldn’t send us the results. And there wasn’t enough time to return for paper printouts.

Again Brian stood on the side of the road in the rain with our boys wondering how to lead them through an experience he had no reference for. 

“I’m so frustrated,” he said, updating me on the situation. “We’ve been waiting half an hour for a taxi back to the hotel.”

“I don’t think you should go back to the hotel yet,” I said, seeing the situation from the outside. “We need to figure out the Covid tests.” Pressure mounted knowing we had so little time to act. I fished my mind for clues. Even with decades of travel experience, I felt unequipped for this moment. Should the boys fly ahead and Brian pick up the results and email them? There had to be a better way. 

“I think you should find another hospital and do the test again. One that can work with international patients.” 

I knew Brian was beyond exhausted. How would he respond?

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes. But it’s hard to get around. It’s a huge city. I don’t want to waste time chasing something that won’t work. I want to do the thing that will get the boys on the plane.”

Within minutes I was on the phone with a hospital that could send the results by email. If the boys got there fast enough they could have an appointment. I booked it, with no idea how far they were or if they could possibly get there in time.

“It’s a 40 minute drive,” Brian texted. “And we’re in a cab.”

I relaxed. “It’s going to work out,” I thought, until I got the next text.

“He dropped us off in the wrong place. I need to find another taxi.”

“This is crazy!” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I feel like I’m in an Amazing Race I don’t want to win.”

We were all in, trying to get our two kids on that flight, but in our hearts longing for them to stay. 

To Be Continued

Read Part 2 Here

What challenges has Covid brought you and your family that you found hard to navigate?

While love brings such fulfillment, at times it requires great sacrifice. Can you relate?