Tears & Cookies

I stared out the back passenger window of Daddy's F150 at the barren fields and quiet towns on a cold December morning in 1994 as we passed through northern Kentucky and southern Ohio on the way to the Port Columbus International Airport in Columbus, Ohio. My husband sat in front of me. Daddy drove. My husband's dark hair almost touched the ceiling of the truck. Several inches were between Daddy's hair which Mom has always described as "Elvis like" and the ceiling. Daddy cast a quick glance over his shoulder at me and smiled. His hazel eyes sparkled like he was telling himself a joke he didn't wish to share.

My husband turned to look at me. His long curled eyelashes and green eyes hid behind glasses but I can see his happiness. He smiled, too.

Mom sat beside me. I looked over at her as the men returned to their conversation. Her brown hair was neat but her dark brown eyes were teary and her smile forced. For some reason the odd thought crossed my mind that her head lined up perfectly with Daddy's.

The three hour drive felt both endless and incredibly fast.

I desperately wanted a minute alone. I hadn't really had any time to myself in over two weeks. Visits to friends and extended family as well as staying in my parents' home meant someone was with us all the time. Even when I attempted to take a short walk on my parents' farm, someone would suddenly show up at my side. I felt like I was suffocating. I stared at my muted reflection in the window. I pretended to adjust my perfectly mussed permed hair. My green eyes were slightly flecked with golden hues but were dry. I didn't smile nor did I frown. I just was. Vanity provided me cover to withdraw into my thoughts.

Our home for the previous year had been in Columbus, so naturally Hewlett Packard assumed we'd want to leave from there when they offered my husband the position in Boise, Idaho. We probably should've had our flight booked out of Lexington, Kentucky instead of Columbus, Ohio, since we knew we'd be spending time with my family before we moved. It would've been more convenient for them with an hour and half drive instead of a three hour drive. The thought just never crossed our minds.

Country music twanged softly from the radio speakers. Daddy and my husband chatted. Mom let out a heavy sigh every few minutes - each one just a little louder than the one before. I watched the landscape and attempted to take a moment for myself to think about the future.

Moving across the country felt like a chance for my husband and me to start over together after a tumultuous first few years of marriage. We liked the idea of moving where we knew no one and could focus on us. My husband faced a career-changing, life-altering opportunity. Pursuing a lifelong dream lay in front of me. I wanted to contemplate what it all meant. The potential for a better life overwhelmed any trepidation we had about our move.

Outbursts of "Did I ever tell you?" comments were followed by stories we'd told a million times. Then long moments of silence. And, "Did you remember to ___________?" Fill in the blank with any number of mundane chores that need to be done when moving. And then there were the "Don't forget to write, call, etc." reminders that really mean "Don't forget to love me."

We checked our luggage and received our boarding passes. My parents stood to the side watching. My Mom smiled through bursts of tears. I looked over at her and thought "It's not like we're moving to the moon never to return."

I thought it might be easier to say goodbye there so Mom and Daddy could get started on their long drive home, but they insisted on walking us to the gate. We sat at the gate making idle conversation and staring at one another while we waited to board. I ran out of things to say, or maybe I just needed some quiet. Time seemed to alternately speed forward and crawl along.

Finally the announcement for us to board came over the loudspeaker. Relief flooded my mind. Then guilt edged its way in as I looked at my Mom's tearful face and my Daddy's sad eyes. We said goodbye to my parents and exchanged hugs and kisses. We walked toward the line to board. My parents followed us. We hugged and kissed again. We said goodbye one more time. And then another. And then another. My Mom started to cry again. She grabbed me for another hug. I started to get annoyed. We needed to board. I shot a pleading look at Daddy. He put his arm around her, gently pulled her to him, and hugged her. I didn't want her to cry. I wanted her to be happy for us. I wanted to leave among laughter and joy not emotional wrenching.

I really wanted Mom to let me go. At the age of twenty-four, I hated her treating me like a five-year old. At least that's how I felt. My whole life I'd longed to move west '" in my mind as far away from my hometown as I could get and stay in the United States. I dreamed of living in Berkeley, California based on a book I'd read as a pre-teen. Boise, Idaho served as an acceptable substitute, or, at the very least, a step in the right direction. I longed for Mom to be happy for me.

We handed our tickets to the flight attendant. As I neared to the door leading to the plane, I turned, smiled, and blew my parents a kiss. I hoped they'd see I felt excited and happy about the adventure that lay ahead. I turned to step through the door. Mom suddenly grabbed me and hugged me again. The security rope formed a barrier between us. I almost lost my balance. The flight attendant watched with an amused expression on her face. I blushed. The thought that Mom feared she would never see me again flitted through my mind. I whispered. "I love you, Mom. Now I have to get on the plane. We'll visit soon."

I pulled away and watched Daddy take her hand. Daddy smiled and said. "I love you, Kid." I think there may have been a tear in the corner of his eye. He blinked, and I couldn't be sure. Mom stood there crying, waving, smiling, and blowing kisses. I wished she would stop making such a fuss. Taking a step and getting pulled back for another hug was starting to feel contrived and melodramatic. I just wanted to be on our way.

Finally we stepped through the door and out of her sight. "No turning back now." I thought. Mom could no longer pull me back for one last goodbye. I sighed in relief. We boarded the plan.

I smiled at a guy with shaggy blond hair and a thin frame sitting in the window seat as I took the middle seat toward the rear of the plane. He smiled back and looked back out the window. My husband put our carry-on luggage in the overhead compartment. Then he handed me a novel and my notebook. My husband settled into the aisle seat. I watched him closely for guidance because this was only my third time on an airplane. The other two times were for our preview trip to Idaho just a couple of months prior.

I almost pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I stared straight ahead waiting for something to happen. I'm not sure what. I waited to feel different '" altered somehow. I felt the same as I always had. My fantasy move stared me in the face, and no magical change overcame me. I didn't suddenly convert from being a small town farm girl to a sophisticated woman. I didn't know what lay ahead of us. I tried to make myself feel something '" fear, anticipation, anxiety, loss, excitement '" but I felt numb. I kept thinking something would stop this. That if I got excited I'd be disappointed when it didn't really happen. So I continued to stare at the seat in front of me. I kept waiting for the magical change to occur.

My reasons to be happy meandered through my mind along with memories, goals, and decisions made. I hadn't used my degree in Corrections & Juvenile Services from Eastern Kentucky University in over two years. My husband and I had agreed that instead of finding another office job, I would pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a published author once we arrived in Boise. Yet, sitting there on the plane waiting for take-off, I kept waiting to feel somehow changed. I still just felt like the same old me.

My husband squeezed my knee. I turned to look at him and smiled. He asked. "Ready?"

I burst into tears. I didn't know why I was crying. My usual reasons for crying weren't there. I didn't feel anger, sadness, or fear. I reminded myself of my dream of moving west. My tears became actual body-wracking sobs. My husband put his arm around me and rubbed my arm. He held me close and whispered "Sshh! It's going to be okay."

I cried that much harder. Finally, I shrugged him off and sat there crying. I stared at the back of the seat in front of me for a few minutes. Then I covered my face with my hands. I felt ridiculous, silly, and embarrassed.

My cheeks felt wet and tight. I tasted the salt from the tears on my lips. Mucous crawled from my nose. I cried an ugly, tortured cry. To this day, I'm not sure what started those tears. I found a tissue in my purse and cleaned my face, but the tears kept falling '" unbidden and humiliating.

After a few minutes, the blond guy by the window who'd done his best to mind his own business even in the face of my noisy blubbering reached into his backpack. He pulled out a baggie. He turned to me and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper and without acknowledging my tears. "My Mom always bakes me cookies for the plane. You want one?"

I shook my head no. My tears stopped. I squared my shoulders and thought "Why didn't my Mom bake me cookies?" and answered for myself "Because she's not that kind of Mom."

In that moment, I said goodbye to the life I'd always known and the person I'd always been and turned my focus to embrace the life waiting in front of me. I felt free. I smiled.