I tend to avoid reflection posts here and stick to my (most silly) anecdotes and adventures. But it's hard to avoid reflection after spending time at home. All I do is reflect whether I want to or not. There's the time leading up to the visit, the actual visit, and post visit. I couldn't even write about my previous visits.
It's hard.
But this time was a little easier.
First of all, it's hard because I have two homes right now. And that is just as hard for me to accept as well as my family and friends. No matter which way I am going, I am leaving home and coming home; leaving people I care for to head for other people I care for. It's confusing to say the least.
I boarded my plane from Hamburg to Frankfurt and a young woman with tears streaming down her face sat next to me. I wasn't sure if I should talk to her or try to comfort her. I've been that girl before. She kept to herself, so I let it be while sending positive thoughts her way.
Little did I know I'd be that crying girl again in mere hours. During the short layover before my big flight to ORD, I suddenly started tearing up as we queued. They were silent tears, nothing hysterical. I put my sunglasses on and sent my last SMS to my sweetie, who had sent me off with a lovely box of couture pralines so I wouldn't starve on the plane, but also with instructions not to overeat.
This internal emotional battle is usually metaphorical, so when it takes the physical form it always catches me off guard.
Soon I was back to happy and excited to see my loved ones at home. And, of course, I immediately shed happy tears when I saw my welcome crew.
I jumped right back into the swing of things and didn't stop for 17 days. I visited with close friends. I admired new engagement and wedding rings. I met new babies and husbands. I saw pregnant bellies. I brunched and lunched and dined and snacked. I golfed. I lazed around with the dog and cat. I reorganized my library. I cleared out some that don't fit into future plans (no matter what they be). I purchased items to take back in the nearly empty suitcase I brought with me. I went to the doctor and the dentist. I worked two days which didn't even seem like work. I cruised around in my Jeep with the top off. I renewed my drivers license. I celebrated the 56th Annual 3-Family Christmas party which is one of my most treasured traditions. I played Dream Phone. And Sequence and Dixit and Scrabble and Skipbo. I celebrated my 30th birthday five months early. I hit the 5-year mark at my company. I saw the home my sister and brother-in-law are building. I experienced my brother's first apartment. I witnessed my parent's as true empty-nesters. I ate everything on my list of Chicago and American food and drink. I had long phone conversations with people I have a hard time catching in a different time zone. I had family dinners and quiet evenings at home.
I was spoiled and loved and treasured. It meant so much to me.
On the other hand, it's hard to fit everything into a narrow time frame without burning out. Some gathering required months or weeks of planning, but some were planned to be spontaneous. I loved and lived each moment of each gathering and feared for the goodbyes. I often had to answer genuine questions of "can we do this again next week?" with an unfortunate "I don't think so, but maybe."
And then the dreaded "three days out" rolled around. I've noticed a trend lately. With all of the goodbyes under my belt, it never gets easier. Approximately three days before I leave, I undergo an ugly transformation where I get short and snappy and subconsciously start pushing me away so it makes it easier for me to leave. I really can't control it. But at least now I can recognize it. So when the front door, the ones I've entered more times than I care to think about in 21 years, snagged my brand new jeans leaving a miniscule hole, I stomped up the stairs like a four-year-old and screamed, "I hate America! I wish I were leaving tomorrow!" and slammed my door, I was able to muster up an apology and explanation within minutes. OK, tens of minutes, but sooner than in the recent past.
The thing is that I hardly know what it's like to be the one left. I'm always the one leaving. So I can only imagine how hard it is to be left behind. I don't know which is worse, there are good arguments for both sides. I just know that it's not easy and it's not ideal.
[Side note: Just writing this and reliving this is hard. It's why I don't usually do it.]
I'm constantly analyzing these feelings.
This was the first time I wasn't overly concerned about my suitcase being overweight. The "to Germany" pile has finally been emptied. My closet is emptier than ever before. The computer is living elsewhere. The TV came out. I asked my parents to use the room or leave the door open so it doesn't look like a memorial.
And then it was time to go. I hid my last minutes cards and presents to my family. I hit a note to my sister while she was hiding one for me. The ride to the airport is only about 20 minutes. We listened to the Bears game on the radio and my sister held my hand. I knew if I talked I would start to cry. But then I needed to say something.
"Is there anyway we can stop? I drank a lot of water this morning..."
We stopped at the oasis and I hopped back in the SUV ignoring the fact that we were still on the way to the airport. I stared out the window crying behind my sunglasses. I said a wordless goodbye to my brother-in-law, who offered to man the car while we went in. My parents and sister walked in with me and my bag was checked in just a few minutes. We walked over to security like the many times before and we say our see-you-laters. And then I went in for one last round of hugs and kisses before turning and walking away.
I didn't realize this at the time, but my sister said that I turned back for another look and wave. Apparently I've never done this before. Her and my mom tried to analyze what it meant. I don't have an answer. Perhaps because every other time I knew exactly when I'd next see them and this time I don't?
I let myself be a little sad. And by the time I was back in Hamburg, I was excited to get back to my apartment, to work, to my German. Mostly t the routine of daily life. Right now my life is in Hamburg. For the first time, this trip home really felt like a visit. I was displaced in a temporary state of in-between.
I still don't know what my future holds and where it will be spent, but I am well-aware of what I am missing at home.
Some fun pictures:
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| Apparently I'm the only one who can hold him this way. |
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| Fun at Hobby Lobby |
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| 13 years |
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| Karen won by one stroke -- the putting master. |
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| game room fun |
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| Chinese feast |
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| Milkshake! |
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| Waiting for six milkshakes takes a while. |
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| So much fun. |
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| Siblings. |
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| The girls |
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| Zeus pre-grooming |
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| They must think I like candy corn or something... |
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| Fritz tried to get in on the downward facing dog |
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| Portillo's feast for two. |
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| Lou's! |
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| Letting Mom drive... |
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| Dream Phone! |
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| Golf with Dad |
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| The pond |
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| Fritzi |
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| fun with letters |
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| backyard fun |
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| celebrating Mom & Zeus on their volunteer therapy dog work |
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| Presented with my 30th birthday present...five months early |
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| siblings |
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| Grilling request: complete |
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| family dinner |
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| SMC Chicks |
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| This is what happens when walk away for 30 seconds |
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| pizza and bubble tea |
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| basketball girls...love Gizmo's photo bomb |
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| And Frank came! |
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| Family minus Jeffrey |
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| our matriarchs |
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| third generation |
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| family pictures 2013 |
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| senior year SMC chicks reunited...after five years! |
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| fabulous evening of family fun |
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| Grandmas and granddaughters |
