A Farewell Gift

I hear it's a wonderful trip.

So many friends and family have taken it, I often wonder why I haven't gone long ago.

Rose, one of my dearest friends, emailed me last night commenting on the new Carl Reiner HBO show, and mentioned casually "95 is the new 65." I have to wonder about that. Even though I haven't reached that magical number, I am not certain I agree.

I am not addicted to travel. Of course, I feel differently when I visit any of my children. There are many reasons to be apprehensive in today's world, but I often remember my wonderful Aunt Helen, who had a morbid fear of leaving her own insulated world. It was always difficult to understand since she had endured so many hardships within those boundaries.

When she finally took the trip, it went easily. God apparently knew of her fears, and made it far simpler than anyone could have predicted.

Yesterday I was notified that there would be a fire drill in the building sometime today. Concerned about hearing the loud alert at an inconvenient moment, I arose earlier than usual and dressed appropriately, not in my normal morning attire. The thought of hearing the alert sans contact lenses and in a state of dishabille made me rise and shine before 7 a.m. Then as I sipped my coffee, I wondered why I haven't made equally sensible plans for the trip everyone tells me I must eventually take.

Six months ago when I arrived in my new residence, I met a young woman who graciously made the transition far simpler. Karen bravely accompanied me as I navigated the unfamiliar roads and highways; introduced me to good restaurants and attended Good Friday services with me at a nearby cloistered Carmelite convent.

She toasted me with champagne the night An Angel Wept appeared on Amazon. We began to consider ourselves friends, and I will ever remember her helping me find laughter tucked into all the perils of a traumatic relocation.

Life changes, and so did my young friend's. For various and mundane reasons, she left for another home a month ago, and the words of the poet came to mind, "Ships that pass in the night." However, whenever her name popped up in conversation, I remembered both her joie de vivre and generosity of spirit last October.

Last night during dinner I learned my friend had taken the trip we all speak about so often. Karen traveled to a far off land before the final leg of her journey, and no goodbyes were said. There was no indication she had made any plans to do so. Now I have to wonder why when so many accommodations are made in my daily schedule for a fire drill, I am so reluctant to prepare for the trip we all ultimately take.

Since no one to the best of my knowledge has ever returned with a complaint, the journey must be something quite special and perhaps something we could all look forward to doing.

Before moving, Karen tried to give me a farewell gift. I refused, but, of course, she already had and neither of us realized it.