So...in the interest of playing a little catch-up, while also recording some of what has happened for posterity and for the sake of the memory that I will undoubtedly soon begin to lose, and to make the whole thing (hopefully) a little more interesting, I'm going to start with today and work my way backwards. I've never written a story backwards before, but it just sort of seems the thing to do. I am going to try to not give away details - and you have to promise to try not to read ahead to put the pieces together. I am just going to write it chronologically moving from the present to the past.
We'll see how this works out. And it you get so frustrated you decide to never read anything I write again, I'll understand.
Wednesday, Jan. 5, 2011
The house had a chill in the air when we arrived home a few minutes ago. And not surprisingly so...it is, after all, 22 degrees outside and we've been away from home for three days, and in the interest of conservation of resources, we left the thermostat turned down. Flyboy likes to unpack right away, while I prefer to hit the keyboard while stuff is still fresh in my mind. We're thankful for good friends, who took us to the airport on Monday and picked us up today and got our mail in the meantime. Today we had breakfast in Valdosta, GA, drove to Jacksonville, FL, had lunch in Atlanta, and are home in time for supper. It was a blessedly easy day of travel, with ample time between flights but not too much.
As we were walking to our connecting gate in Atlanta, my phone rang and it was Elasti-girl calling from England. What a treat!!! She wanted to make sure we were okay, but we couldn't talk for long as we were headed for the underground train to ride two terminals down. She asked if I had time for a funny story, which, of course, I did. She and Mr. Incredible just got a new table for their kitchen that has to be assembled. JackJack asked Mommy who would be putting the new table together, and she replied that Daddy would be taking care of it. JackJack (age 4) said, very manner of factly, "Well, not many people know this about me, but I am actually a very good builder. I think it would be a good idea if Daddy were to wait for me to get home to help him." I laughed out loud, and boy, did it feel good. I hung up the phone and told Flyboy the story, to which he responded, "That is just plain scary." I knew exactly what he meant - that JackJack's intellect continues to surprise us all. He can say the funniest, most interesting things.
It was 60 degrees when we left Florida. Apparently an airport-closing-blizzard in Wisconsin was too much to hope for. We both could have used another day to recuperate. Yesterday was a very hard day.
Tuesday, Jan. 4, 2011
Flyboy's niece said it well: "This has to be hitting Flyboy hard today...we've all had a couple of days to process everything, but for him, it's all at once." Yes, she was quite insightful. We arrived at the church just after the hearse had pulled up. The men in suits were carrying in flowers when we got out of the car, and we met grown up kids we've hardly known in the lobby. We shared hugs and tears, and got out of the way so the men from the funeral home could bring in the casket. We all followed them into the sanctuary as they opened the casket for "the viewing", as they call it in the south. At the same time, a video presentation was playing, and all of a sudden, photos of Flyboy and his sister as children, pictures of their mom and dad, his sister's children throughout their growing up years and beyond were flashing on the screen one after another with music in the background. And Flyboy began to silently weep. He and his sister were not close growing up, and had not lived anywhere near one another for many years. Since their mother died in 2002, though, they had connected more on the phone than ever before, and this, along with the fact that he was now the only person left in his family of birth, his sister laying there before him, hit him like a ton of bricks.
Although she had a hard life, Flyboy's sister raised four children who have each, in their own ways, grown up to be amazing people. There was an hour before the service started and each of them took their turns, sometimes alone, sometimes with one another, saying goodbye to their mother. They grieved well, laughter and tears mixing together as they remembered something funny she had said, or something they had done together.
One thing Flyboy was unprepared for was the flood of memories of his own childhood, including trips to Georgia to see his grandparents and the two times he saved his sister's life when they were kids, and then the last trip we had made to Georgia to bury his mother. This is the fourth time he's gone to Georgia to bury a family member...first his mother's husband, then his grandmother, his mother, and now his sister. And all four are now buried in the little cemetery next to his grandma's beloved church.
The pastor spoke of Flyboy's sister's love of life and pointed out that the majority of photos displayed in the video of her showed her in some animated pose, completely comfortable with who she was, not trying to "look good", but just having fun. That opened the floodgate for later conversations and telling of stories and imagining what she would have said had she been there.
You forget some things, especially when you live in the north where there seems to be a general lack of respect for humankind. People in the south know how to honor death, and I was yet again struck by the five car police escort to the cemetery, the many cars on both sides of the road - even on a divided highway - pulled over at a complete stop as our caravan passed by. Two police officers would speed ahead to intersections to stop the traffic, and by the time we got there, they would be standing outside their vehicles at attention, with their hats over their hearts as we drove on. It felt as if the whole state of Georgia was mourning with us.
Back to the church we went, following the committal, for a southern potluck complete with deviled eggs, macaroni and cheese, lima beans, lentils and black eyed peas, and southern fried chicken. The kids lingered after everyone else had gone home, and we sat and shared stories for several more hours before heading back to the hotel, thoroughly spent.
Monday, Jan. 3, 2011
By the time we arrived in Jacksonville we had been traveling for ten hours. It should not have taken that long, and at the end of the day, we were thankful it didn't take longer, but it was a day to remember. When you're sitting at the computer making flight/car arrangements, it all seems so easy. Just one little mouse click, and you're there. You're supposed to get on the plane, make the connecting flight, rent the car and be there.
Our woes began before we even got on the first plane. It was slated to be a half an hour late, and with a short turn-around time in Chicago, we feared we'd be in trouble. Trying to be proactive, we spoke with the ticket agent here, but were assured we'd still have enough time. We even tried to map out the trek between terminals at O'Hare (nothing can be easy there) ahead of time. The plane was even later than expected, and by the time we got to O'Hare, there was only 15 minutes before our next plane was scheduled to leave. We tried to enlist the help of an unhelpful ticket agent, but were told we should just try to make the plane. Alternately running, walking, and gasping for breath, we found the shuttle between terminals, then started over again, running to the gate. It was ugly. I am 54 and flabby. Flyboy is 59 and not even five weeks out of heart surgery. We are entirely too old to be running for planes. We saw it still at the gate, but were told by yet another unhelpful agent that it was too late, the door had been shut, the plane was in communication with the tower, and we'd have to take the next flight to Jacksonville, which did not leave until 7:30 p.m. Do we have any other options? Take that concourse past the McDonalds to the customer service counter. Ask them what your options are.
I had to sit down and cry.
The customer counter of disappointment confirmed that the only other flight to Jacksonville for the whole day was not until 7:30 p.m., a six hour wait. Thankfully, Flyboy had the presence of mind to ask if we could take another airline, an option that would have not been otherwise offered. Yes, US Air had a flight leaving in 45 minutes, and if we hurried, we could get back to the other terminal - yes, you guessed it - the terminal we had just run FROM, in time to make it. We hurried back, again, and made it to the gate just in the knick of time. This plane, however, was not going to Jacksonville...it was going to Charlotte, and we'd get a connecting flight from there. It was the only way to get to Georgia before midnight. Our boarding passes were printed at the gate, and we fell into our seats, taking off for Charlotte.
Having missed lunch, we sought out an early supper at the airport in Charlotte while we waited for our connection to Jacksonville. Dinner at a nice seafood restaurant had just been delivered and we had an hour and ten minutes to relax. I had taken two bites of my crab soup when, out of nowhere, a panicked thought entered my head - WHAT TIME ZONE ARE WE IN??? Our hour and ten minutes was suddenly, without warning, reduced to ten minutes til take-off. We had not, until that moment, when the voice of God shouted in my ear, realized it was NOT 4:50, but in fact 5:50, Flyboy quickly paid the bill as I ran AGAIN for the gate, begging for mercy to be able to board.
We fell into our seats, being glared at by an entire planeload of people who knew we were the reason their plane had not yet taken off. Wild-eyed and exhausted, we looked at each other, shook our heads, and simply could not believe what a day it had been. And we still had a two hour drive ahead once we arrived in Jacksonville. Could it get any worse? Stop right now - don't ask that question. We all know it can get worse.
Thankfully, it did not, and we finally arrived at our hotel, feeling in no way, shape or form ready to face the next day.
--to be continued...
