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“And what about my life? Am I the only one who’s ever going to sacrifice in this relationship?”
Only, most days I feel like I’m a single parent, because Wren’s always at the damn airport, or in the air, or making plans to be. And what am I left with? Dinner plates that grow cold from waiting, a toddler who asks for “Dada” incessantly, and this inhospitable subarctic soil that I’m lucky to grow weeds in. I’ve just kept on giving this man parts of me, not realizing that I was losing myself in the process.
That wanting someone to be something they’re not won’t make it happen.”
These people—strangers—see a pretty, well-dressed girl embracing life. None of them know the real story—of why I’m here, of why I’m already thinking about going home. They can’t sense my loneliness, or the knot in my stomach. That’s the magic of social media, I guess. But there’s also an odd comfort to hiding behind the illusion.
“By being in his favorite place, high up in the sky, getting away from everything he’d lost down on the ground.”
focus on the here-and-now, and not on what you can’t change.”
“I don’t get it.” “You don’t have to; you just have to respect it.”
“This is my last flight, kiddo,” he announces with grim certainty. He reaches over and takes my hand, and the smile on his face is oddly at peace. “And I can’t think of a better person to have spent it with.”
He died as he lived. Quietly, with a resigned sigh and a smile of acceptance. Leaving a giant hole in my chest that I can’t see how time will ever close. And yet I wouldn’t trade this emptiness for anything.
