Taking Flight

It's Wednesday evening.

"I've left you the lists and the coupons," she says to me, "That way, you'll know what to get at the store when I'm gone. And leave all the coupons from the Sunday paper for me till I'm home. Just use the ones in the envelopes." She's gotten hooked on "Extreme Couponing" on TLC.

Her suitcase is open on the bed. She has carefully chosen and accessorized each outfit. I've convinced her that packing five pairs of shoes wasn't necessary for her trip.

"And don't forget to give Lucy two dog treats every day." I assure her I won't forget.

Her favorite cat, Kahoku, senses something different in the usually languid evening. He is pacing the top of the coffee table, butting his head against her feet to get her attention. The other cats are pacing, too, but they are only waiting for their dinner. It will take them a day or so to realize she's gone.

Her flight leaves for Baltimore at 1:00pm. I am in the office, writing this as she flits about the house. She's happy, as she should be.

She calls from the living room, "You'll be okay, won't you?"

"Of course," I fib. "You're going to have a wonderful time." And she will.

I mentally promise myself that I will tackle my to-do list in her absence. And I will. But I will miss her every minute of every day while she's gone.

Just before bed, she jokes that she will call and check up on me - to make sure I did the shopping correctly at the store (the coupons!).

In the morning, I will get up, make coffee, publish this article, and dive into the day as the sun rises. She can be grumpy in the morning, but on this special day, she'll awaken with a smile.

We'll get in the car for the long ride to the airport. My mother will be waiting for us - she's flown down to get her. I will hug my beloved daughter very tightly, kiss her too many times for her liking, and watch her walk away.

It will be a long 2 1/2 weeks.

I love you, Jennifer.