You Can't Go Home Again...And That's OK

Sometimes a visit at the right time is all you need

Greetings from (not so) beautiful Sea-Tac International Airport in Seattle, Washington! I’m on my way home to Portland, and I have a three-hour layover in this monstrosity they call an airport. I’m trying to make the best of it and not focus on how much I hate what, IMHO, is one of the worst airports known to Mankind.

Today got off to a very early start. I had to catch a 7am flight out of MSP. So I had to set my alarm for 3am CT to get there on time. Effectively, then, I’ve been awake since 1am PT…and there’s not enough caffeine in this world to paper over that reality. So I’m not going to try to artificially maintain my ability to stay awake.

I’m writing this, in part, so I don’t fall asleep and miss my flight to Portland- and so I can get out of this dump as soon as possible. Sea-Tac possesses all the unfiltered charm and ambiance of a drive-through mausoleum. Only you’d have to imagine that mausoleum with a Starbucks and a boatload of crabby people- like me, f’rinstance. Of course, that might be coloring my view of things this morning, so you might want to keep that in mind as you read this.

‘Cuz nothing good comes from getting up at 1am, knowhutimean?

Besides the early alarm this morning, the rest of the week went pretty well. Mom’s going gangbusters with her new pacemaker. It’s going to be some time before she’s running hurdles in the backyard or playing one-on-one in the driveway with the grandkids, but she’s back to her old self. If you didn’t know she’d had a pacemaker installed, you probably wouldn’t figure it out.

My role was pretty much straight out of Driving Miss Daisy. I used my rental car to get her there if she needed to go somewhere. So, doctors appointments, grocery shopping, buying lottery tickets, you name it; I was her chauffeur. And it was fun. At 81, she can’t drive anymore, so she relies on others to take her wherever she needs to go. I enjoyed being able to do that for a week. It allowed us to talk one-on-one, something we never did when I was growing up.

I’ve grown closer to Mom over the two-and-a-half years since my Dad suddenly died. Before he passed, she was never much for deep conversations. Now, though, I can engage her about topics we could never have discussed previously. As a result, I’ve learned more about her since Dad died than I did in the previous 50-plus years.

That made it hard to leave her this morning. Then, as I pulled out of her driveway at 4am, she stood in the front window, waving to me. It was all I could do not to cry. I wouldn’t have felt that way even five years ago.

Yesterday we drove two hours down to near Sparta, WI, to visit Dad’s gravesite. It was the first time I’d seen the headstone my youngest brother had purchased, and it hit me in a way I hadn’t expected. There’s something odd and unexpectedly final about seeing your family’s surname on a headstone for the first time. Dad is the first one in the family to perish. While his death at 82 wasn’t unexpected, losing my father still hit me hard. I only cried once, but that one time was epic. I managed to get through that episode and moved on. I miss Dad, but we were never close, and his living his last 29 years with the aftereffects of a massive stroke didn’t bring us any closer.

Even so, the visit was surprisingly emotional for me, even with the Irish salute I gave him, which was far more for me than him (Dad never drank much). It’s still hard to believe he’s gone, but the last two-plus years have been very different. Mom has handled things surprisingly well for someone who’d never been on her own until she turned 79. I’m sure she’s had challenging moments, and I’ve seen a few of them, but she’s adapted to her new circumstances with remarkable ease and grace.

It’s difficult for me to do much from two time zones away, but I know my brother and sister-in-law appreciated the break, even if only for a week. They bust their tails to take care of Mom, and while it’s not always easy- she can get a bit crabby sometimes- they’re always there for her. I’ll continue to do what I can when I can, and after spending some time with them, I have a much better idea of the state of her finances and overall health.

So I left this morning feeling as if I’d accomplished something positive. Of course, I wish I could do more, but no, I’m not moving to Zumbrota, Minnesota. Living in a town of fewer than 4000 people in southeastern Minnesota would leave me babbling to myself before long. The people are great, and it’s only an hour’s drive southeast of the Twin Cities, but I’ve done my time in small-town Minnesota.

And then there are the winters.

Don’t even get me started on that.

Right now, though, I can’t wait to get home and back to something resembling normalcy. And a well-deserved nap.