Spread Your Wings

I’m scared and I don’t even know if I’ll make it. I hope I will. I hope I can. Something, somewhere deep inside of me is telling me that I’ll be fine. But I’m a worrier. It has become second nature to me. For the longest time I was so confused about who I was and what I was doing. Was it the right thing? Should I have picked something else? And then this fell into my lap, and I just couldn’t say no. I wanted to, but the words wouldn’t form. It is, and always has been, easier for me to say ‘yes’ than ‘no,’ and it will probably always be that way.

I pick up the last box from the ground beside my car and place it into the backseat. These boxes that fill my car, they are my history. My memories, my life. My entire room is my life, but I can only take so much with me. I can only take what will fit in my car. How can you pick and choose which memories you want to keep and which ones you want to dispose of? How can you pick and choose which memories you want to leave sitting in a room, to collect dust? Those things are my history, but the things in boxes in my car are part of my future. And I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. Things will turn out fine.

“Is that the last box?” She asks, her voice wavering. I turn around and can immediately tell that she’s been crying. She doesn’t wear makeup to smear, but her eyes are puffy and the normally glowing color is dulled into a muted grayish blue.

“Mamma,” I say quietly, pulling her into a hug. I feel like a child as she wraps her arms tightly around me, though I, for once, am the one trying to comfort her. I’m just as scared, but I can’t let it show. I can’t give her any ammunition to help her talk me out of this. I need it. I need it so bad that I can almost taste it, and surely feel it in the tips of my fingers. “I’m going to be okay,” I assure her, using the same mantra of words I’ve been using on myself all day long. I’m sure that if I believe it, then it will come true.

She nods into my neck and takes a deep breath before pulling away. “I want you to call me when you get there. And every stop along the way.” I nod with a smile as she goes through with her regular routine whenever I leave for an extended period of time. Only this time, I don’t know when I’ll be back for good. Or if I ever will. Thinking about this brings my good mood down, so I quickly push the thoughts out of the way. “No talking on the phone while you’re driving and no picking up hitch hikers,” she tells me.

“Not even the nice looking ones?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood. It works because she smiles and pulls me in for another quick hug.

“I love you,” she tells me once again. She has said it more times than I can count, just today alone. But I’m not tired of hearing it. In fact, I want to hear it again. A thousand times more, if she still has the time and breath to say it.

“I love you too,” I say, fighting the tears that are now threatening my composure. I bite my lip and look away. Into the yard where I grew up. More memories that I just can’t take with me, no matter how much I would like to. But those memories, I’ll leave here for her. I will leave pieces of me so that she’ll never forget. Who I was, who I am, who she has made me. “I have to go now,” I say sadly. And I do. If I don’t leave now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make myself walk away. And I want to get to at least Columbus before I stop for the night.

“Be careful,” she warns me with a sad smile. She’s doing her best to let go, but she won‘t ask me to stay. She knows how much this means to me.

“I will,” I promise as I open my car door. Before stepping in, I lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek. She hugs me tight and whispers ‘I love you’ one last time before I climb into my car.

“Do you have your money?” She asks me.

“Check.”

“Cell phone?”

“Check.”

“Map.”

“Check, check, check,” I say with a knowing smile. “We already went through all of this, remember?”

“I just want to be sure.”

“I love you, and I’ll call you every time I stop,” I promise her.

“And no…”

“Talking on the phone while I’m driving,” I finish for her. She smiles and I smile back. I’m going to be okay, and so is she.

“Have fun and be safe,” she tells me.

“I’ll make you proud,” I say with a hopeful smile on my face as I start my car.

“You can’t make me more proud than I already am,” she says, and I believe her. I believe her and I believe in myself. And all of the memories I’m leaving behind are for her. And everything I do in the future will be for her, in her honor. Because she made me who I am. She made me strong enough to fly, and she gave me the wings and set me free.

And as my car starts moving down the road into my future, I spread my wings and fly away as she stands strong, behind me, waving goodbye. With her believing in me, I can believe in myself.