So I’m at the departure gate. I received a call yesterday that my Dad is hooked up to life support;  his liver floundering in a toxic ocean–now pushing it’s regulation over to the kidneys. He went from committed alcoholic to non-committal recovering alcoholic;  a lifetime of wear and tear has accrued and the results are now fatal. He’s in pain and he might not live past this week.

So here I am, flying back to the place where I was born, in hopes we can have one last conversation while he’s semi-conscious. At least to have closure, to exchange a glance with infinite love, forgiveness and acceptance.

Thing is, I’ve been here all day, actually arriving with plenty of time to check in.

The 11:06 flight was not listed and the machine didn’t recognize my confirmation code. Approaching the clerk, I discover there is a problem. My Aunt booked the flight from Portland, Oregon NOT Portland, Maine.  Yesterday she refused to give me her CC number, instead handing the duty over to her friend.

Fine, whatever. She doesn’t trust me.

After explaining the situation today, she finally gave me the number. After resolving and rescheduling, I call with the new itinerary. I ask if she’s given her friend a hard time yet, and she says no, she doesn’t plan on saying anything to him. She doesn’t want to hurt his feelings–the whole reason she caved and gave me the CC number today.

Lawdy, I’m flying back to the deep, traditional South–a humid hotbed of racial inequality, gender inequity, homo-bigotry, and passive aggressiveness–indivisible they stand.  Sound dramatic?

In the South, women don’t sweat, they glisten–that’s the saying. Trust me, when it comes down to it, all the above tensions are palpable undercurrent–they’ve just been glossed over.

I’m not looking forward to the next week, sure. Come on, they make movies, drama-comedies, about the awkward family relation tensions like mine!

But the day started off with a strong message. I took the bad news in stride, joking around, not freaking out.  We always have a choice. We can Act or React. Reacting usually creates more tension.

The delay turned out to be exactly what D and I needed.

When D dropped me off, their was something thick and stifling between us–choking back the trust and love that used to be so strong. The unexpected five hours gave us time together, on neutral ground–away from the kid, the dog, the house, the duties, checkbooks, the grocery list, on and on. It’s funny that it took an error to push us together. To get us to do nothing but spend time together, without duties and distractions. We do it really well actually, waste time, and it was nice to be reminded of that.

Leaving home on that note gives me the confidence to face the next week-loosing a Dad that never cared enough about himself to care about me; spending time with an Aunt who respects nothing about who I am.  It was nice to arrive at the place of love and joy before departing.