A whirlwind homecoming… and a change in plans

I flew home to Seattle last week – a few days of meetings, workshops and dropping in on colleagues and bosses (“Remember me?”). I still have not sorted out the mixture of emotions I felt viewing my neighborhood as the plane banked into its final approach: a sudden and intense homesickness, a regret to lose the “special-ness” of living in a foreign land, frustration that I would not yet be sleeping in “my” house, anticipation of seeing family, friends, and favorite restaurants. All these thoughts jumbled together in my head and I stumbled through customs and the baggage claim in a daze.

After visiting my parents for an hour or so (my mother’s hair had grown in nicely, though it would all fall out again before I left town), I decamped to Phil and Cora’s, dear friends who would host me for most of my stay. I enjoyed a weekend of dinners out, unannounced visits to friends, and uneven sleep patterns.

One of my first stops (I’m only slightly embarrassed to say) was to see our cat, which has been living with friends while we’ve been away. Our re-union was not the tearful, Hallmark Greeting Card scene I had envisioned. Indeed, Blacktop clawed me quite severely when she was placed in my lap. I won’t describe all my pathetic entreaties to her, but I confess to crawling around under the dining room table, as Blacktop stayed just out of reach, studiously avoiding eye-contact. It was suggested that she remembered me and was expressing her anger… so too was it suggested that cats don’t have such mental faculties, and I simply seemed to be an imposing stranger. Not sure which explanation is more comforting – perhaps we’ll find a family-feline therapist to sort it all out during the coming weeks.

It was a roller-coaster week at work. The big event came when the supplier I’ve been supporting made a request to have me stay with them for three more months. I discussed it with Ceil, and we agreed that I would stay in France while she and the kids return home as previously planned. This decision increased my inner-machinations exponentially – relief at being able to see my work through to the end, remorse at being away from the kids, excitement at the chance to see more of Europe, guilt over asking Ceil to be a single-parent while I indulged my professional urges, pride that the supplier valued my help enough to pay my way… on and on. Suddenly, what had been a quick preview of homecoming became lungful of air, gasped before diving back under salty waves.

More meetings at work, shopping for souvenirs of Seattle for the kids to distribute to friends and teachers. I spent two nights with Rick and Kerry, relishing home-cooked meals and the familiar chatter of kids declining to do homework, chores, personal grooming (no, wait, strike that last bit – their kids are very well groomed). The “boys” got together for a night of Poker, telling of old jokes and giving our money (as ever) to Richard Wedgwood Slim Shumway. I made it my business to sit very still the following day – all the better to absorb the ease and well being I felt amongst friends… and also because I was more than a bit hung-over.

Sunday came, more football, sans Seahawks, and then, suddenly, I’m on a plane. The flight back is a blur (I’m told that I slept soundly), the passage through Copenhagen, gathering bags at DeGaulle in Paris, staggering to the rental car and then a zombie-like drive home to Arthon. I was greeted by the sight of Miles and Lee sitting up in the bed room window, waiting for the headlights to appear at the end of the drive-way.

My thoughts and emotions are still jumbled – I’m glad to be staying on, sad to say good-bye to the family. But for that moment, though, standing in the door-way, kissing my family hello, things were clear… blessedly, blessedly clear: I’m home.