Maybe around 1984 or 85, we piled into a car and I left Texas for the last time as a little tex Mexican. I would return a veces but always a little bit more a stranger.
I was 11 or 12 and it was terrifying. We arrived in upstate New York during the summer and stayed in a cottage on Lake Ontario. But then it got cold, and my grandfather got cancer, which was not a new word.
My parents reassured us that they would send us back for the funeral, which was also not a new word. This was a common dilemma for military families, stationed so far away, only being able to afford to go home when the sad times came.
I don't know who suggested it, but someone wondered if you were going to buy a plane ticket, why waste it on a funeral when you could spend it on the living.
We were bustled off to the airport, and put into the loving care of airline staff, my parents reassured that they would meet us at the connecting gate. There was no one waiting, but my sister and I figured it out, and made our way to the next plane. It was our first time flying.
Spend time with the living, I suppose is the message. Maybe that includes yourself from time to time. I got lasik of all things, in my fifties, no less. I will be flying monthly with my new job, 4 or 5 trips to DC. Back to Alaska for a fishing trip. My first trip to New Orleans.
Our little mutt is dying, some kind of tumor was removed. The last time I traveled so much, we lost our first pup. These days I'm flying flying flying.
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