If you have been following this blog, you have seen Rebecca's photo earlier and know that she is our daughter. This isn't her wedding anniversary (that was last month), but it is an anniversary that is more significant to David and me.
Thirty-five years ago today, David and I met my brother Davis and his wife Esther at their home in New Jersey so they could drive us out to Kennedy Airport. It seemed like a very long wait before that Northwest Airline plane came in from Korea. All the "regular" passengers came off most of them grinning from ear to ear as they looked at the crowd of us in the waiting area (this was pre-Patriot Act, remember, and we could still go directly to the gates).
Then, one by one, the volunteers came off the plane carrying their little bundles. Sometimes all one could see was the bundle; sometimes a little head was visible. The volunteer called out a name. Families rushed forward with arms outstretched and enveloped the volunteer and the baby, their baby, in their arms. More and more names were called, and I began to think we hadn't heard our name or that I had gotten the date wrong and this wasn't "our" plane. There were so many people milling around that we couldn't see much of anything anymore.
Finally, our name was called and we surged toward the sound. As we got closer, I could see a lady carrying a baby who was wide awake and looking around. All I can remember for certain after that is moving forward at a near run and reaching for that baby, our daughter Rebecca. David took care of paper work while David and Esther cried (we were all crying!) and took pictures.