My trip home was more difficult emotionally this year.  I don’t know why.  It was hard to be in my parent’s house and hard to be at my brother’s home as well.  Everywhere I looked were memories of parents no longer here.  Which could be a good thing I suppose, the memories, but for me this weekend it just made for a continually tight chest, frequent sheen of tears in my eyes, and a slight headache that constantly threatened to overwhelm me.  I both wanted to be there and wanted to never be there again.  Today I am glad to be home, and yet I wish I were still where their memories are so strong.  It was good to touch things they had touched, cook in Mom’s kitchen, read in Dad’s chair, walk on their beach, look at their view, talk to their neighbors.  But each activity reminded me of other holiday visits, conversations we had, conversations I wish we had had, time I wish we had still.

As we drove back to the Atlanta airport early this morning in the predawn light I watched a planet low in the sky shine down on us, racing us through the trees along the side of the freeway.  It was as if it were following us to the airport, along the road that Dad had traveled in the dark that morning, much like we were traveling it now.  As we approached the crash site the morning was just beginning to arrive, the sky deep appricot and purple and the planet was beginning to fade.  I wanted it there for some reason as we got closer to the site and the inevitable tightening of my chest increased.  Hang on, I thought, just stay with us until we get past the bad part.  And it did, the sky lightening to turquoise and gold as we passed the spot where Dad left us, my husband and I silent, the planet shown down for me, a bit dim, but still there.  I offered it my thanks as we made our way on to the airport.  Thanks for hanging there with me, getting me through the bad moment…as it faded from view and the sun came up I was grateful for what seemed to be its support.  Strange as it seems, it was kind of like Dad being there, which was comforting.