Lucy woke us up this morning at 4.51a.

The irony was that twice before we went to sleep we semi-joked about getting up at 5a to pack and head home.  Clearly, Lucy not only listened but thought it was a terrific idea.  After three nights of troubled sleep, issues with the heaters and the drinking water and two days of stress stress stress, we decided to call it.

We pulled out in the darkness, creeping slowly down the icy driveway and turning onto the main throughway.  The sky was still blue-black and the moon hung low in the sky.  We were tired.  Mentally, physically, emotionally.  It had been a long … long weekend.

I often write that time is a funny thing.  I think about it a lot.  Perceptions and viewpoints and the slippery nature of it.  Tonight it feels as though the past two days are decades away.  We merged onto the turnpike from the northeast extension and I felt the tension drop from my shoulders.  We felt lighter, our conversation bubbled, we laughed.

John slid the truck beside the curb across from our driveway and we fell out, setting to the task of unpacking.  Lucy stretched her legs and nosed the grass. Four hours and a lifetime in that drive.  Four hours and the slow unwinding of anger and frustration, miscommunication and disappointment.  Four hours and the sun cresting the horizon, the terrain changing from snow covered to green and brown.  Four hours and we came back to ourselves after somehow crossing over into a twilight reality of people who look like us but don’t feel like us.

It was a long weekend.  And now, we are home.