|As I mentioned in a previous post, I traveled to TX for a few days because of my mother. As I also have mentioned in at least one other post, I do not like to travel in general. I am a homebody. Boring. Don't like change or to get out of my routine. As significant is that I hate to fly. My little brother does that for a living, and every time I have to get on a plane, it is not good.|
On the way to the airport, I was in tears. Not just a few runaway droplets, mind you, but full-on sobs punctuated by halted breaths.This was partly due to the exhaustion and stress of the previous two weeks and partly due to car trouble (I see a future post there). But more than those things, it was the thought of leaving my kid for more than three days, particularly when I had to get on a plane. Rationally, I know that flying is pretty safe, even post-9/11 (and maybe more so). But there is just something about a large object becoming airborne, literally leaving the ground. How is that possible?!
When the plane starts down the runway, I take a few deep breaths, willing myself to stay calm. I either clutch the armrest or grasp my hands together ridiculously tightly. Inevitably, a few tears start to form in my eyes, and one or two will escape down my cheek(s). I then beg God to let me arrive at my destination safely. And, as has been the case the few times I have flown since I had Jordan, I also implore God to get me back to my family safely.
Fortunately, after a few minutes of this mostly irrational behavior, I become calm(er). I typically tell myself there is nothing I can do, so I might as well just accept it. Luckily for me, this time I had a bunch of stupid celebrity magazines, courtesy of my mother-in-law, which helped pass the time. Some of the issues were from August and September, so it was particularly amusing to see some stars looking all happy and/or professing their love for their honeys, knowing they were not together present-day.
As soon as the captain says that we are beginning our descent, feelings of relief and joy wash over me. On the way to TX, this feeling was not nearly as great as the landing in Pittsburgh; there are few things that make me feel happier than when I see scenes from my Burgh. I, no doubt, had a silly grin on my face as we flew by the six tall buildings downtown. I know I was smiling while looking at Heinz Field and PNC Park.
The final few minutes seem to last an eternity, but I hardly care. I just know I am almost home (and I choose to ignore the fact that landing is more dangerous than take-off). As the plane touched down, I noticed a "You're in Steelers Country" banner across a luggage cart near our gate. And all is right with the world.
Yeah, there is nothing quite like coming home. Safely. To the Burgh.
TheTwelfth Day of Christmas Crazy
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