C42: DEN to ATL

This is my gate. If I’m flying non-rev on Delta, this is always my gate. I’ve been doing this once a month for most of this year. We back out of the gate at 6:20- on time departure. It’s still dark. The runway is glistening with all of

those colored lights. The ones that I still don’t know the meaning of. One would think with my dad working for Delta and now, for the FAA, I may know what all of those directions mean, but I don’t. But they’re pretty. Across the horizon there is a slim ribbon of what appears to be light; but I can’t tell if its light reflected to the west or light cascading from the east. We taxi and taxi and taxi. If you have ever flown out of DIA you know that you don’t actually take off until you taxi to Kansas.

I am flying to ATL to be with my family, more specifically, my mom. Most of you, that know me, know that she has been doing a dance with cancer for over six years now. She is doing the final dance now, albeit a long dance. You see, the doctors stop giving her any prognosis, outside of “we don’t have a cure for the recurring cancer”. She is one of ‘those’ people. It ain’t over til Pola says it’s over. If you’ve ever met the woman you know that her spirit it too large to fit in a room, or an arena for that matter. So it is no surprise to me that her spirit would far outlast any war that her cells are involved in.

Every time I get on a flight and the wheels peel from the ground, I cry. I think that this could be the last flight of this kind to come home and see her, to be with her. I cry for all that she has endured. I cry with fear of what the future means without her. I cry for my father. I cry for my inner child. I cry. But that never seems to be enough.

We are flying headstrong, with a bountiful tail wind into the day. Crossing the context of time, floating forward- or is that backward. What I do know, is that it will take us approximately 2 hours and 21 minutes to land in ATL; that my father will be there on the other end to pick me up and already know that I was in seat 6D. I know that it will take us approximately 1 hour and 45 minutes to drive to Clarkesville. I know that mom will pop out bed and shuffle to the kitchen for a big bear hug. If I’m alive to post this, I know all of these things to be true.

This is what I don’t know. I don’t know when my mom will take her last breath and cross over. It could be next week. It could be months from now. I don’t know what if feels like to be in her skin, her body. I don’t know what life is going to be like without her. I don’t know when and how I will keep it together. I just don’t know. And coming from a long line of control freaks, it’s really hard to “not know”, ya know. But here is something I have learned from my mom on this journey. “All you have is this moment. Don’t take it for granted, whether it’s good or bad…. You don’t have to know everything”.

I keep reminding myself of that.
I keep feeling grateful that she is still over the horizon waiting for that hug.