There’s a spot near my house, where you can park and see some of the valley lights, the night sky illuminated by traffic signals and streetlamps. Depending on which way you face, you can watch a string of airplanes, waiting to make their final descent into the city. I like to watch this, almost as much as I like to get on one of those planes.
D informed me just after I returned from my last trip that he would be boarding no more. He won’t be accompanying me to meet my new niece or nephew this summer. Nor will he join me for the family wedding I have to go to in September. He doesn’t want to travel anymore and he prefers to never get on a plane again.
I have wanderlust. The last few years, I’ve made more round trips to see my folks than anything else, but I was looking forward to traveling to any number of places. He’s not stopping me, I’m free to go alone, but this news hit me harder than I wanted it to.
I only think of what I miss. That my nephew and the baby still yet to arrive won’t know him at all. That he won’t hold my hand at my parents’ funerals. That there’s no grand vacation overseas.
I mourn so many things in my life, so many might have beens, and I suppose this is just another set.