Traveling from a Marriot long term parking facility in a van with sleep deprived until hysterical merry pranksters who are wearing flight wings, caps and wheeled carry on bags on their way to Buffalo in the middle of a storm, is one way to get to the airport. You wonder if they are hung over because they are, and guess they didn't sleep all night because they, well, look like it. When you are let out at the Jet Blue terminal and they continue on to Delta you are so grateful they won't be your flight crew today, but certainly cannot help wondering if this is the standard condition of most flight crews on a Saturday morning. They indicate that one man in the van is a pilot which does not inspire confidence in air travel.
Getting through the line to check bags is sort of like a bad day at Pre-k. Tears, toys scattered, hand flapping and tantrums. Why people travel with more than three children is a mystery.
The counter is understaffed and when luggage is weighed and your ID is examined there is zero eye contact. You think it is a cold start to the travel experience until you face the reality of TSA, which is managed so poorly you wonder if there should be TSA for TSA. A prescreening for the actual event which feels like a set for a docu-drama, especially when flight staff directly ahead of you kicks off her pumps and tosses them into the plastic dish container on the conveyor belt, drops her ID on the ground in front of the metal detector which you notice and hand to the TSA guard who screams her name to see if she is still in the vicinity.
After you quickly grab your giant unkempt pile of personal belongings and jam your feet into your shoes and shuffle past the feral crowd, you see a Starbucks ahead of you and you have never been so happy to see Starbucks before in your life so you drink a Grande whatever to get yourself going again. And it works like the paddles to resuscitate a heart attack victim in the ER! Instantly, you are brought back to life.
Temporarily.
The gate is about 3/4 mile to the left and if you can find a seat in the waiting area, you win the reward of being able to quasi-rest before you are squeezed onto your flight. But there is still time to use the restroom (with broken doors that won't latch and swing open while you are taking care of yourself) with broken faucet sensors, and browse the duty free shop.
No need to go further.
You arrive safely and learn that your mother is not well. The next three days are spent navigating pain medication, wheel chairs and doctor visits. This was not in the intinerary, but you swing with it and don't sleep at night because you are too busy thinking about how life will proceed when she is gone; feeling selfish the entire time because she is almost 86 and you've had a lot of years to have her around. More than most, but still this is something that you are shockingly unprepared for and you wonder if losing her will be something you will never recover from. Ever. You kind of know that the answer is never and you are propelled into a place of sadness and fear that you've been avoiding your entire life. Then dawn breaks and coffee helps get over that particularly morbid hump and you proceed on.
As you wait in the examining room with your father for the doctor to assess all three MRIs you look at her and wonder how you got here, but know that you are part of the sandwich generation: the tail end of the Baby Boomer generation who take care of older parents while tending to young children at the same time. A magical juggling act which is emotionally challenging: like a tight rope walk over a land mine field, a tank of sharks and a mountain of poison spiders.
Just then, the doctor comes in with a glue stick and promises to put her back together again- like a damn lucky Humpty Dumpty. You all cannot believe your ears and want to hug him, but are certain he would not tolerate such a display, so you thank him and wheel her back to the car and cannot believe your luck. Certainly, you will collapse from both shock and exhaustion because visits aren't typically so active, but you don't. You sit in the back seat and think about it for a while.
You have another chance.
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