In 12 hours C and I are boarding a plane for Dallas, where we will spend the weekend saying goodbye to Favorite Aunt, Mamala's sister, who has battled valiantly against the devil that is ovarian cancer. Her kidneys are failing and we are told it will be days. (R will come on Saturday--tomorrow he is completing perhaps his biggest project since he began his business.)

This is very different than last time, I realize,
...as I speed through the Orbitz screens trying to find an airfare that is not absolutely outrageous,
...and as I click "purchase these tickets" in the hopes that in my hurry and distraction I've bought what I intended to buy, and am not accidentally flying back to Baltimore or something,
...and as I pack for C and me as lightly as I can, while not wanting to forget something important,
...and as I hope I don't get airsick because there's nobody to take care of me and her...

I remember the last time, when there was no flurry of plans, just sad quiet. There's something to be treasured about that, I can say now. I am so glad to be going to be with family, and my aunt, but I also realize that last time, one of the unexpected blessings for my first-born caretaker self was just being able to feel what I felt, without feeling compelled to take care of anyone or make any plans or even be on time for anything.

Instead, people brought me things.

PastorG brought KrispyKreme donuts.

My mentor brought herself, and some fragrant oil that she rubbed into my swollen feet while I talked about Dad.

Many, many people brought food and flowers and cards--or was that for C's birth? Were those two separate events? Not really.

My mother-in-law brought herself, as family representative at the small prayer service my seminary friends planned for me and for Dad.

My friend ChicagoRev, who was in Texas that weekend for presbytery business, brought me a whimsical gift--a paper lunch sack containing a gallon ziplock bag of dirt from my spiritual godmother's backyard in Houston. I took this bag with me to C's birth, and we placed it unopened under the hospital bed so that C could be born, yes indeed, on Texas soil.

It will be good to walk on that Texas soil myself this time, to experience home, not ziplocked up, but opened wide. See you on the other side.