One of our family tenets is that we choose to travel together. Steve and I were both of the stick-together mindset when we got married and then we added children and we needed to be close to them, especially for the first few years, so we just kept at it. We like to be together, our kids are good travelers, it usually works out just fine.
So when the occasion arose that we needed to be in Virginia for my grandmother's funeral, we did what we usually do and tried to make it a family trip. The timing was difficult and after some deliberation, Steve offered a suggestion.
"I think you should go alone."
In the end, it made the most sense. So I bought a plane ticket and we made some plans and we talked about it with the kids, as the day approached. Steve kept telling me how free I would feel, traveling alone. Nobody to keep track of or feed! No need to squish into an airplane bathroom with another person! Nothing to worry about!
He was right, in a lot of ways. It was quite freeing to pack one small bag with just my own belongings. I didn't have to anticipate who would need a snack on the plane, or which activity book might hold their attention the longest. I could breeze through security without the usual car seat to jam through the scanner.
I pictured myself lounging in the airport, reading a magazine as I waited for my flights. Falling exhausted into a hotel bed after brushing only one set of teeth, instead of two or three. Waking up to my alarm and having a few moments before anything major is required of me. Worrying about only my own hunger, my own energy level, my own need for a restroom. I could practically be drunk with freedom just thinking about it.
But I knew what would really happen. That I would be just a teensy bit lonely as I waited for my plane. That I'd feel lost with a stranger in the seat next to me. That I'd see families traveling together and get a little teary. That I'd miss them terribly.
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It was almost just like I'd pictured. I read a magazine quietly on the flight there while the teenage girl next to me slept. My sister picked me up at the airport and we navigated our way to the hotel and I fell into bed with pillows piled around me for company.
I spent the next day being a granddaughter and daughter, instead of a wife and mom. I got to spend time with beloved family members and friends that are like family. It was emotional and draining and it was a blessing to be there. And as good and right as it was to be able to focus on the service and my family that was there, I missed having my usual crew around me. I even missed the lack of personal space- someone always crawling on me, pulling at me, wanting to be lifted up. I found myself looking down at my legs several times, a reflex I've developed to make sure I don't step on Helen, who is usually right there. I kept forgetting to eat at regular meal times, mainly because I wasn't feeding anyone else.
I arrived home late, long after the kids were asleep. Steve and I sat up talking, catching up on the day. As we went to bed, he commented that he wished he could give me a chance to sleep in the next morning for Mother's day. I told him not to worry about it, and I meant it.
The next morning, Helen ran into our room just after 6, as usual. Steve took her into the guest room to read a book, but I couldn't stay away. I joined them and took over the reading while he took a shower. Arthur wandered in a bit later and said, "Mom! You're back!" Helen stared at me for a minute and then shouted, "You're back??!!??" like she had definitely forgotten I was ever gone. We all snuggled in and I kept reading and thought about making eggs for breakfast and I was just so glad to be home.
