The Other Side of the Continent

My mother went back home this morning.

One of my least favorite things about living in Othello is the distance we are to large airports. Spokane is two hours away and Seattle, which is much cheaper when flying to South Carolina, is three hours away. In order for my mother to make her 6 a.m. flight, we went to Seattle last night and stayed in a hotel. Eliza joined our "big girl night out" and came along for the adventure.

On the way to the airport, my mom called my sister, Marian. While they were talking, my mom said: "Well, Celia does live on the other side of the continent--I mean country." I thought about it for a second and realized I do live on the other side of the continent. I don't know why that made me feel even further away from my family, but it did.

2, 773 miles. That's a lot of mileage (I still cannot believe we drove there and back). 

I loved our life in Utah, and I really have grown to love Othello; I just wish these places were closer to my family. I miss my parents, siblings, nephews, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. My dad is an only child, so my dear grandmother only has three grandchildren, and my mother's family has always been extremely close. Being this far away, especially for so long now, is difficult.

Of course, I feel very fortunate knowing we have family so far away that loves us dearly. Eliza has been spoiled by her aunts, cousins, and grandparents in South Carolina and knows anytime we receive a package, it is usually for her. The distance has not created any shortage of love, and I consider ourselves lucky that we are surrounded by Nathan's wonderful family.

It's been hard trying to keep that mindset throughout today. This morning, when my mother kissed me on the forehead and whispered her goodbyes, I was hardly conscious. I knew she was leaving to catch the hotel's shuttle, but I didn't register much more than that. It was 4 o'clock in the morning, and I was exhausted after a long day. She said she loved me, and I automatically responded, "I love you, too" and promptly went back to sleep.

Waking up a few hours later and seeing her bed empty made my heart drop a little. I tried to ignore the tug of sadness I felt and instead went back to sleep. When Eliza woke up a short while later, her first words were, "Where is my Grandma Homa?" I explained that Grandma had to go home and Eliza cried, "But I want my Grandma Homa!!" I felt like crying a little, too, so we drowned our sorrows in some Frostys on the way home.

We're home now, and the sadness I felt earlier is still there. It's kind of like when you are about to cry and you swallow it, so the nagging feeling remains in your throat. My mom isn't here reading a book or asking what she can do to help or trying to change the channel this evening; she's asleep in her own bed.

I guess I'll be more okay with that tomorrow.