Last night John + I spent four hours (yes, four) on the phone with American Airlines.  Truth be told we spent most of that time on hold – first to get a person and then because that person was on hold with another person.  Long story exceptionally long, we hung up just before ten having eaten dinner standing up and most of our time pacing back and forth waiting for someone to come back and talk to us.

The end result is tickets booked to the U.K.  And no more tickets to France.  I am both happy and sad.  I wanted so badly to visit my brother in the Alps.  I practically strong-armed it into taking place.  To change those plans hurt my soul.

On the flip side, I haven’t been to England since 2015.  When my mother was still alive.  Most of my aunts and uncles I haven’t seen since before.  Covid has been going on for so long … our original flights were booked for September 2020.  Nearly two years later and we are finally (hopefully) going.  I just want to eat sausages and crumpets and pork pies and walk the walls of Berwick.  I want to breath in the salty sea air and remember my mother.  I think part of me is hoping she feels closer somehow.  Even though my rational brain knows that won’t be the case.  My mother was an American and she was proud to be one.  England is more for me and my Dad and Dave than it ever will be for her.  We are all searching, hoping, missing her.

I hope we go.  I hope we are able to board the plane and land in the U.K.  I hope I am able to see my aunts and my cousins and talk and laugh and hug and tell stories and show John things he didn’t see last time.

My fingers are crossed.  Maybe third times a charm.

Xox, g