Am I home?

Cat on a suitcase

Recently I went on a trip to the east coast to visit daughter Kendall and a good friend who continues to think the east coast is a better place than the west coast. Go figure.

It was the first flight I’ve taken since pre-pandemic, and of course since Randy died. I was worried about Covid because my friend and her son have health issues, but I pressed on because you can’t stay home forever. I wore a mask the whole flight, not eating or drinking until I was out of the airport. I was exhausted, and it was raining so my hair turned into a haystack and I had big bags under my eyes. Apparently I don’t travel as well as I used to.

It was a good trip - I was gone for two weeks, dividing my time between Kendall and my friend Nia and I learned a lot about hybrid cars and keyless ignition and the MANY buttons that control things and are not at all clear.

There was some confusion in my hotel and rental car arrangements, an unexpected road trip, and quite a bit of covid testing, but I never once wished I were home.

I arrived in SF at around midnight and I was so tired I just took a cab rather than looking around for the Ubers and Lyfts (cost me $100) but mostly I was just glad to be off the plane.

When I got home I wheeled my bags into the “rumpus room” and my first thought was, This doesn’t feel like home. My second thought was, Randy isn’t here. His absence was palpable and the weight of it is still hovering over me, probably waiting for me to cry.

I’ve been home for just over a week and I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever feel at home without Randy - maybe he was my definition of home and I’ll just drift along for the rest of my life.