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On 18 April, I flew up to New Jersey. This trip had been planned for a while and events preceding my departure made me want to stay home. Rob insisted I go. I wanted to stay here. I wanted to go. I listened to those I love, packed my things, and I left.
The flight was delayed and I always promise myself a dessert if I a flight is delayed. But I didn’t indulge. Instead, I treated another woman to a cup of tea. I met her when I generously gave my seat to a woman so she and her husband could sit side-by-side. Because of this, I was standing by the gate for a few minutes that stretched and stretched.
Speculations would fly faster than the plane and I was oblivious to much of what had happened. No. Not oblivious. I was already overwhelmed. How could I face what was happening in Boston? I couldn’t. It was too much. And there were several people who believed the reason the flight was delayed was because of the bombing.
The truth is, I still haven’t been able to process current events.
While hovering, I chatted with a woman who was traveling to see her son and his wife. So, when the flight delay was announced, I suggested we both go get something to eat, someplace we could sit down. I had a cup of coffee. She had a cup of tea. We shared a lovely conversation.
We even hugged when they started boarding the plane.
I don’t know why but every time I fly up north, it is always a better experience than when I fly home again. The flight attendants are more attentive, friendlier, and, even when the flight gets bumpy (and it did), the overall experience is more positive.
We landed and soon enough I was in the car and on my way to my mother’s home. I never lived in this house, myself, but there are things scattered around this house, thing with which I myself grew up, that leave me feeling like I’ve come home again. In the guest room, there’s a lamp that I think we’ve had for 40 or so years and there it is, still pretty and adding a soft pink glow to a room.
Neither my mother’s shih-tzu Lizzie (named after Elizabeth Bennett) nor her parrot Beauty were there. It was just me, my step-father, and my mother. Perhaps it was just as well. Being greeted by a fluffy dog so soon . . .
I unpacked a little, mostly rearranging the things I’d packed into separate purposes. Some were moved into my packed bag. I always pack an extra bag because my mother is so generous that I inevitably end up carrying more home with me than I bring. So generous, in fact, she gave me this bag I pack one year when I needed to carry too many things home with me. I still think of it as her bag and carry it back to New Jersey every time I go for a visit.
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If nothing else, it keeps me from bringing home yet another new bag. Besides, I would need that extra bag the next day and not just when it was timed to fly home again.
That night we went out for dinner. It was necessary because there is work being done in the kitchen—cracks in the joins and paint that needs to be refreshed. We went to the usual spot they take me: Café Panache. My mother and I ordered the same thing and she insisted I have dessert, which I did. So duck confit in a cherry coulis followed by a white chocolate mousse.
Larry was in pain. He is having problems with his neck for which he is seeing a doctor and a chiropractor (at his doctor’s insistence). The pain is sometimes shooting, making it difficult for him to use his right arm, in particular. I remember breaking my collar bone and how difficult it was to remember not to use my dominant hand.
I slept very poorly that night. I woke up several times because of a sharp pain in my back, on the left side, where one would get a kidney punch.
I hate having a long exhausting day and not being able to sleep but it was so good to be someplace I felt loved, away from the sadness that surrounded me at home.