“How do I know which carousel will have my luggage?” Saoirse asks.

“Your flight number will be posted on it,” I explain, “and if you can’t see it right away, you’ll notice people in the crowd from your flight moving toward one.  Let the herd carry you.”

There’s only a few minutes before we say goodbye.  She’s trying to think of everything she hasn’t yet asked me.  I’m trying to think of everything I haven’t yet told her.

2020 taught me one solid lesson:  There is no loss without gain…no chaos without opportunity.   I’m trying to focus on that as we push our way through the crowds at Newark International.

This lesson is why Bob and I are putting her on a plane to Ireland.  The Avian Flu hit a factory farm near the small hatchery we use in Pennsylvania.  While the hatchery stayed free of the disease, they were not permitted to send us our chicks.  There hasn’t been a spring without chicks on the farm since 1992.

On Monday, I told her she needed to take advantage of the down time and go seek some adventure before she starts college in the fall.  On Tuesday, right after Bob got the news that he needs a biopsy and that he has a 50/50 chance of having cancer, we bought the ticket. 

And here we are on Sunday, speeding through the airport, and I’m repeating that mantra from 2020 over and over in my head…

There is no loss without gain…no chaos without opportunity.  There is no loss without gain….no chaos without opportunity.

I know this in my head, but my heart is so angry.  My kid is leaving for a grand adventure.  All through the airport, summer travelers are leaving for their grand adventures.  In my mind, They’re happy.  They haven’t a care in the world.  

But our spring has been slammed with one assault after the next – the shooting and having to cope with the gunman living across the creek from our business, Tom’s death, the sudden need to replace the cafe roof, no chickens, now this damn cancer scare.  And this cancer scare, of course, trumps it all.  There’s my fear of Bob’s pain and suffering, of potentially losing this man I love, and then the fear of having to carry on a three generation business in his absence….Added to that is the daily angst that I am simply incapable of knowing and performing all parts of running this farm and cafe on my own…which makes me sit bolt upright in bed at night, fearing who I’m going to lose first — Mom, Dad, or Bob, and how I’m going to care for them, how I’m going to replace them in the business, how I’m going to keep it all together, how I’m going to keep giving these kids a good life, how I’m going to find the buoyant spirit that has let me take such  deep pleasure in each day for the last several decades.  

And then here’s this kid, pack on her back, nervously trying to use a ticket kiosk, stammering as the attendant barks orders at her and shoos her on her way.  We careen through a tour group headed for Paris and wind our way toward security.  Saoirse gets confused again.  “There’s TSA pre-check, and then elite security.  Which one am I supposed to go through?”  We stand at the mezzanine level of the airport, spinning  in circles, studying crowds, until I see the golden words at the bottom of a set of stairs.  ECONOMY SECURITY.  

“That’s us,” I laugh.  “If you get confused any step of the way, just look for the word ECONOMY.”   We bump our way toward the next river of people.  We get to the security entrance and stop to review where she’s keeping her travel vouchers.  Then we have an argument about where she’ll store her passport and boarding pass.  Then the security attendant waves us out of the way.

And I’m crying.  I’m sending my baby girl out into the world on her first solo international adventure.  All this  mid-life-crisis angst is flying around in my brain, and the only thing I’m clear on is that I’m about to do this one thing that I really don’t want to do:  

Let my kid go, then hope and pray for her safe return.

I hug her, and then Bob hugs her and Ula hugs her, and then she and I cling to each other again.  Then I push her into the mad rush of travelers, and she’s carried away on the current toward the metal detectors.  And I can’t watch over her, and I can’t get her there safely.  I can only let life take hold of her and trust that she’s a smart kid.  She’ll figure out everything that I forgot to tell her.

We turn away and head against the crowd, toward the parking garage.  And with each person I pass, I’m reminded of one simple thing.

We all go through this.  

Each one of these travelers goes through suffering and loss.  Each one has to find a way to pull it together and keep moving.  These are the feelings I have on this day.  They don’t make me special.  They make me a human, having a human experience, like everyone else swarming around me.  

But there will be days when I can be one of the travelers, leaving my worries in a closet at home, pushing my way through security until I get to the quiet of my flight gate.  And for a few moments, a few hours, maybe a few days, the painful parts of life won’t touch me.

I travel to Ireland in my head.  I imagine the places I could hike, the beer and fish and chips, the people I’d meet.  And I remember that at some point in every journey, the moment comes when escaping the pain of home life seems absurd.  Because I’ll miss everything that’s here:  the woods, the sheep, the food, the pets, the cafe, and my customers and family members who make me miserable because I love and worry about them so much.  And in that moment, I’ll know that it’s time to come home, to this place where pain and love and joy and sorrow are all part of the crazy whole that is an ordinary extraordinary life

Safe travels, Saoirse.  I love what you’re doing, and I’m so excited for your adventures.  Bring home lots of stories.  I’ll be waiting for you. 

 

The Hearth of Sap Bush Hollow podcast happens with the support of my patrons on Patreon.  And this week I’d like to send a shout out to my patrons Pat Adams & Pamela Cooley.

Thank you, folks!  I couldn’t do it without you!  If you’d like to help support my work, you can do so for as little as $1/month by hopping over to Patreon and looking up Shannon Hayes.