12. “Learning to Fly”

12

"LEARNING TO FLY"

TOM PETTY I didn't normally make rash decisions to pack up and leave town for an unknown period of time.

Once we were all on the line, Anna was first to speak. "Mom, what is going on? Are you really on your way to Florida?"

"I am, honey. I'm in Kentucky right now and I'll probably stop for the night somewhere in Georgia. I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night. I'm pretty sure the ghost in my room was happy to see us leave. "

Jason couldn't mask his concern. "Ghost? What? Mom, seriously. What is going on? Is this some kind of midlife crisis? We talked to Papa and Meema last night and they told us you were fine, but I— we —can't help but wonder what the heck is going on."

"You guys. I love you so much, and I appreciate your concern, but I'm perfectly fine, or at least I think I'm on my way to being fine. It was well past time for a change, and this opportunity felt like divine intervention. I'm trying to be positive and I'd love it if you could have a little faith in your old mom. Ok?"

Anna sighed. "Fine. Fine. We have all the faith in the world in you, but we worry about you just the same. Jason and I love you and want you to be happy, but this just feels a little extreme. Jay? Do you have anything to add?"

Jason took his typical beat before responding, then sighed. "We love you, Mom. If you're happy, I'm happy. We are worried, but you've always made pretty solid decisions and we all need to let you have some space to make this one if you feel like it's the right one for you."

"I do feel like it's the right one for me at this point. And, honestly, what could it hurt? If I get down there and realize I hate it, I can go back to Madison. I haven't made any permanent decisions. I'm just staying in Uncle Mike's house for a little bit, not permanently leaving the country. It's going to be ok. I'm going to be ok."

Anna, my little worrier, finally relented. "Then we will keep our worrying to ourselves, but will you please keep us updated throughout your trip and let us know when you get to Uncle Mike's?"

"Of course. Now tell me what you've both got going on this week."

We resumed the cadence of our typical Sunday call, and we hung up after I expressly promised to keep them apprised of my progress for the rest of the trip. I polished off my breakfast sandwich and washed it down with the coffee that had cooled while I soothed my children's nerves. After taking Roxy for her last walk for the next two hundred miles or so and climbing back into my Jeep, I adjusted my rearview mirror and stopped for a moment to look at the woman in the reflection.

There were lines on my face that hadn't been there when I said "I do." Or when I wrestled a ramrod-straight toddler into a carseat. Or when I strapped butter-soft pink leather shoes onto a tiny ballerina's foot, moments before her first recital. Those days seemed endless at the time. All I'd ever known was raising kids, and it was the only way I identified myself that even mattered. That badge of honor had been worn alongside that of 'wife', and in the happier days of my marriage to their dad, we'd shared the responsibilities of raising them. Not always evenly, but joyfully, and we'd felt like a team. I thought we were happy.

How easily those happier times were discounted. Easily cast aside for... I still don't know what.

But, in the end, that loss had taught me a lesson, one that was reinforced as I dropped my second, and last, college freshman off at the airport. The only person I could count on to always be there was staring at me in the mirror in a Hardee's parking lot, but I didn't even know the person I was looking at. My marriage had spontaneously combusted and I'd been carrying its ashes around for… too many years. My children were off living their lives; I'd done my job.

But what have I lost in the process? If I got it back, would it even fit me anymore?