Spring Break, Day #5

This morning I woke with a start. I barely slept last night, the usual traveling jitters, and was convinced that I had mistaken the time of my flight's departure with the time of its arrival. I have no idea why. Realizing it was a false alarm, I tried with no avail to return to sleep. Instead, I hung in a half-awake daze until my alarm rang.

I sprung out of bed, turned on the oven, and got dressed. My sister bought waffle sandwiches from our favorite waffle sandwich place, Bruxië's, to supplement us for our long day of traveling and it was my responsibility to make sure they were warmed appropriately. Just after I had finished getting dressed, my sister joined me at the mirror to apply makeup. Using the tips I had given her the night before, she coordinated a lovely shade of purple with a nice beige eyeshadow. Watching her in the mirror, I started tearing up - partially because I was so proud of her, partially because I was impressed how quickly she had caught on, and partially because I did not want to leave. Both of us were too preoccupied to notice the time.


After we finished our breakfast and gathered last-minute things, we headed on our way. My sister's flight was later in the day - meaning she had a whole day of work ahead of her after dropping me off. I had hoped to treat her to a coffee or something beforehand, but we soon realized that the most important thing we needed to get was - you may have guessed it - gas.



On our way to the airport I became increasingly distraught at the thought of saying goodbye to my sister. I am sure she could tell by my passivity during the drive. Sure we chit-chatted, but I did not have the strength to hide my despondency, nor did I have the wherewithal to explain my behavior.

Is not that a shame? Throughout the drive I could have reminded her of all the things I love about her, shared some more outrageous nursing student stories, made wisecracks about our surroundings to make her laugh, or even sung my lungs out with her to music. We could have talked about our trips, work, books, music, etc. Heck, we could have played "I spy" for all it matters.

Why is it that some people become so upset at saying goodbye? I could say I inherit the habit from my mother, but it is not as simple as that. I suppose it is because I have a pessimistic view of changes, or because I become so attached to having people in my life. Whatever the reasoning may be, I just hope that it does not interfere with the interpretation of my feelings toward the person to whom I am saying goodbye.