The Long Journey Home

A Different Kind of Travel Story

Hello, dear friends.

This entry’s topic hits especially close to home and is one I’ve wrestled with writing since launching BSG two years ago (how did that happen?!?). It’s a bit of a divergence from my usual wittiness, snark, and random observations about the woes and joys of travel. Thanks in advance for allowing me to share my story.

Once upon a time (December of 2014) I was in Dallas for work meetings and such when I got the call no one ever wants to receive. My dear father had died suddenly from a widow-maker heart attack (pretty much just as his father, my Pap-pa, did in the mid-70s). The conversation with my mom was short and to the point, and it remains imprinted on my heart to this day.

The drive north was long and arduous and filled with phone calls from family, friends, colleagues, and other loved ones. There were also quiet stretches that allowed me to sit with my feelings and ponder what was next. What typically takes from 2.5 – 3 hours from Big D to my front doorstep, took well over 4 hours that cold and befittingly gloomy December day. Although maddening at the time, I now believe it was a blessing in disguise for the road construction and heavy morning traffic delays to force me to slow down and focus more on what I was doing. Even with tear-streaked cheeks and a burning desire to get “home” – whatever that would now look or feel like.

For several years, driving across Northwest Highway in the Park Cities area of Dallas would immediately bring the tears and vivid memories rushing back. At the time of the call, I was stunned, to say the least, and I ended the call with the realization that none of my tomorrows would ever look quite the same.

We all navigate the grief journey differently. This grief can come from a death, a job loss, a love loss, or countless other heart-wrenching reasons. Things that resonate nearly 12 years out that I wish someone would have shared with me at the time:

• Sorrow doesn’t follow a timeline. It shows up whenever it wants – in grocery stores, in songs, and on ordinary Tuesday mornings. And it often overstays its welcome.
• You don’t get over it. You somehow learn to carry it.
• The people who love and care about you won’t always know what to say. That doesn’t mean they don’t care.
• Healing isn’t a straight line. Some days you’ll feel fine. Some days you won’t. Both are okay.
• Don’t feel guilty for having good days – for smiling and laughing, for setting the grief aside for a bit, and for relishing the beauty and positivity around you.

If you know me well, you know that my father’s death nearly leveled me. I thought he’d be around for many more chapters of his life and of mine. To answer questions and guide me as I continued down my career and life path. To be present for and celebrate the graduations and weddings of my two girls. And, of course, for the arrival of his great-grandchildren. I know how he would have adored (and spoiled) them.

Beyond the precious memories I will carry with me the remainder of my days, I honor my beloved dad by reliving some of the pleasures we once shared:

• Enjoying strawberries and cream during the Gentlemen’s Finals at Wimbledon each year.
• Listening (at high volume) and singing along (with gusto) to classic rock and a few memorable ‘oldies’ from his era.
• Watching (and rewatching) favorite films and discussing, at length, the cast and plotlines, with whoever will listen.
• Showing up to vote and making my voice heard.
• Tending (and talking) to the ever-growing and blossoming Peace Lily that made its way to my house following the memorial service. Not known for my green thumb, I’ve done wonders with this plant, having to re-pot it at least three times! Each time a new lily blooms, I greet it with a wink, a nod, and a “well hello, Daddy”.

Thank you for allowing me the chance to share this version of myself…real, vulnerable, open, and honest. As I said, it’s quite the departure from what you usually get with your pal, the Big Suitcase Girl. Writing this has been cathartic, giving me the opportunity to revisit that sorrowful day and the weeks and months that followed, while also recognizing how far we’ve all come.

Until next time, I hope Big Suitcase Girl continues to offer insights, highlights, and the occasional travel “oops” while sprinkled with humor, gratitude, and curiosity for this wide, wonderful world – no matter the journey you’re traveling or the size of suitcase you choose to (over)pack.