Actually, I went to the airport to fly to Minneapolis, but some sort of faulty hydraulics in Fresno made me late to SFO. My connecting flight was in International(!), all the way across the airport from where I landed, so I ran. In fact, my technology tells me I ran 0.71mi in roughly 5m. With a bag in human traffic, that’s not bad. I arrived at the gate breathing heavy and sweating. Plane—still there. Terminal umbilical thingy—still there. Door—locked. I was 100ft away but it might as well have been 30,000ft. I was sad. So I took a picture of the plane that left me.
I’m learning (or maybe I’ve learned?) that I wait too long to take care of things. Yes, I take care of a lot of important (and not-so-important) things every day, but there are those things that really matter that I put off and put off until they silently slip away and get replaced by other pieces of life. And if they’re really important and I’ve let them wander off, they often come back as regrets.
It’s been three weeks since I returned from Honolulu to visit my dying Nana—a trip I made to take care of one of those important things: saying goodbye.
I broke into tears when I entered her room. The weight of everything washed over me instantly and there was nothing to do but cry and somehow, in the midst of that, try not to show what I was really feeling and thinking. Did she know I was there because I thought she was dying? Did she feel like she was dying? What does it feel like to see people grieving your death when you’re still alive?