Audience; please know this is nothing I have publicly spoken about. This tale is absolutely factual and will hopefully provide you with a new sense of inner-strength. If I could do it, you can.
Picture an August day in Nordhorn, Deutschland (Germany). It’s around 02:30; Amsterdam time; the year…2016. I am rushing to get the “luxury” apartment we have now been evicted from “in order”; whilst packing for my soon-to-be estranged husband, his actual American wife, their daughter and myself. I know that I will never see him again. I will probably never see Nordhorn again. Could I ever return?
“Are *you* ready, Barbara?”; I hear in that accent I have learned to despise.
“Yes, why are you leaving this place such a mess?”; is my only response.
“Where are we going Baba?” - The child; the reason I am here.
“Yes, schat; we are ready”.
…as daylight barely approaches my foe speaks in fluent German (he has yet to catch on to the fact, I also speak and read fluent German). “My wife and I are traveling with her retarded sister and our daughter, we have no money; please just get us to the Nederland border”; he says to the bus driver. In Germany, this works.
I take deep breathes and try not to cry as we approach The Netherlands. Enshede bound. To the train station that will take us to Schipol. Well, not “us”.
I explain to my “husband” that him and his daughter cannot come with me to Amsterdam via train in order to return his wife to America. I must take her alone. Please, take *our* daughter and go to your step-father’s. “I will meet you there tomorrow”.
He agrees. I know that once this train leaves the station that no other trains will be going to Schipol until the next morning. I have time. I have time!! Wait, I have time???
As I push, we’ll call her, *Yennifer*, onto the train with her suitcase and hold my step-daughter for the last time, tears begin to fall from my eyes as if a glacier just broke and melt simultaneously. I must let go. I must let these train doors close. I must allow this child to be subjected to terror that I can no longer withstand. I must abort the mission.
The doors close. The tears stop and immediately I am in “survivor mode”. I ask to speak to the train conductor. We do not have tickets to be on said train and I just took the only GSM (cell phone) from hubby and twenty euros so I could make calls once at the airport. I am no fool.
I explain the lie.
“This is my sister. There is a family emergency in America. She does not speak Dutch (not a lie), she has learning disabilities (not a lie) and I am trying to get her home.” Free train tickets to the airport, secured.
“Shit, we’re on the wrong train.” How the hell did I pop my behind on the wrong train with the woman who has lived here so many more years than myself? Ugh, at least we are headed in the correct direction.
“*Yennifer* *Yennifer*; we’re on the wrong train. We must get off on the next stop and pop on to the train to Schipol”.
*Yennifer* nods. She will do whatever the person she is closet in proximity to tells her to do.
…We arrive at the airport. It’s dead due to it being the last train in and only red-eyes are departing. I hit up the last open store to purchase minutes for the phone. *Yennifer* needs to eat, of course. So, that gets handled.
I have been up for how many hours now? 72 or more?? Am I truly escaping this time?
I rush to the KLM/Delta desk. There was once a ticket made for me through about a month or two back. If I could get them to honor that, I am home free.
I am trying to convince *Yennifer* to finally leave this time. I will help her get her daughter back to America. She says, “No, I will stay now that you are going”…gee, thanks.
Delta will not honor said ticket. Thankfully, my mother, Aunt Elaine and beloved, dearly departed grandfather paid for my ticket. I had to be out on the next flight. Trains were starting to run and he would be here at the airport looking for me just as my flight departed.
*Yennifer* needs to get to Hengelo, Nederland now. Ugh, let me run across Schipol again, down to the trains and scream to speak to a conductor to now explain that I am the one taking care of “family business” and my “sister” is returning to her husband and daughter.
I need to get to my gate and I haven’t even gotten through security. I could be wanted for all I know. I only have an hour before boarding!
The phone I took is ringing…it’s him. I break the SD card; yep; like in the movies.
The Koninklijke Marechaussee! Brillant. The Royal Dutch Police love me. I pass through security with no issues. Whew! Back to America in the knick of time.
Nope…fucking TSA. What the fuck are the TSA doing in Amsterdam..welp, we have to take our shoes off if we leave or come into America. Wonderful.
“Mrs. Barbara Jo J*****? What are your plans whilst in America and how long will you be staying in America for?”
Oh no; I am way too exhausted for this bullshit. My answer was not kind.
“Hand over your passport and German State Permit”.
“You may have my American Passport, but not my German State Permit. I will be returning to America or you can deal with my husband when he arrives.”
Now the Royal Dutch police are lined up behind me; equally pissed at the TSA.
“He’s been calling. Are you in danger from those in America?”
“What, no…”…luggage searched, special “sticker” placed on said American passport warning them of this “incoming danger”.
…I did get on the airplane. The very last seat. They ran out of food. As I watched Europe fade away on the map traveling back to Tucson via Minnesota; I felt heartbroken. What damage I had caused when I left. What hell I was leaving. This was all me. I had done all of this. My family and friends; gone. My career, destroyed. My heart and mind, shambles. My body bruised on every cm that you gazed upon.
Once I landed in Minnesota I had my passport stamped stating I could only stay in America for 90 days or I would be in “overstay”. In my own country.
I have been here just over eight years.
I still regret not saving the child. The wife, welp; her family tried, Delta tried…policies were changed…and yet I am here…still alive and stronger.
This is why knowing your own personal strength, placing one foot in front of the other and never underestimating yourself does pay off in the end. My behavior those years and final days are why I am one of the few women alive to speak after they have encountered my first ex-husband. This power is within all of us!
Thank you for reading part of my journey.
*Liefde Saves*™️
I want to thank every person who has restacked this small portion of my three years in a hell I have yet to close the doors on. You are healing me. Thank you.
Oh god. That was something I’m not sure I could handle. Just glad you made it out.