I spent three days traveling for work last week. It seemed quite short and too long at the same time. I was up at 3 am for my flight on Wednesday and returned home shortly before midnight on Friday. By my flight home, I started looking at photos and videos of those two chickens and feeling a twinge of heartache.
On my flight out of town, I had made the mistake of dashing out of the house without a book or podcast downloaded for my flight from Des Moines to Orange County. I spent that journey trying to sleep on the plane and staring blankly ahead in silence. So in an effort to correct this amateur move, the night before my flight back home, I downloaded two episodes of The Moth. Have you listened to The Moth? It's really quite good. A series of five minute true stories that share a common theme told to a live audience. I didn't read the descriptions of the episodes that I chose but they ended up being about moms and dads. Some of the stories were about moms and dads either being ill or dying. Sigh, another amateur mistake. Read the description before you download if you do not want to be the girl pretending she has something in her eye as they prepare for landing. The stories were authentic and funny and heartbreaking and perfect.
I haven't been sure if I want to continue this blog thing. Even the bi-monthly posts I muster up are exhausting. However, one thought that has crossed my mind in the past and was again propped up in front of me after hearing these stories, was the idea of my kids and I missing the opportunity to know each other. What if history repeats itself and I leave this world when they are 17? I have photos and my own memories of my mom. It isn't enough.
And so, I am forging on. In addition to photos and memories, I think I'll give these kids my words. My stories of our long and short time together.
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