I would guess my folks wanted to stop the car, open the back door, kicking my sister and me off to the side of the road, and drive on in peaceful aloneness.
How many times were they asked that question, and how many times did it go unanswered?
The query lingers in my memory, recalling how I anticipated arriving at our destination, eager to begin the adventure ahead.
That was then, at 5 and 6 and 8 and 12, I impatiently wanted to jump forward, get to the next before finishing the now.
At 76, I ponder that question with a new perspective.
Are we there yet? God, I hope not.
At my age, ‘there’ has a different destination.
I’m not being dramatic or fatalistic, but ‘there’ can indicate dying is just ahead, and, well, I’m not wanting to rush to that crossroad.
Maybe as a little one I would have been startled and afraid if my parents had deposited me beside the road hoping to end my nagging. Today, I would love it if whoever is driving this vehicle would stop, open the door, and leave me to wander aimlessly without an end in sight.
Of course, we will all die, but I’m learning to focus my vision on what surrounds me, right here, right now, rather than blindly anticipating what might be. ‘What is’ seems far more satisfying than ‘what may be.’
A blogger friend was told recently her life would end in 6 months or so due to the recurrence of pancreatic cancer. She continues to write daily sometimes about death, and sometimes about getting ready to die, but most often about how good she feels, how much she enjoys sunrises, the sounds of early morning birds communicating with their neighbors, her long chats with friends…the here and now.
Of course there is always the sudden panic, the sadness of losing her life as she knows it. But she seems able to stay in the present. I’m pretty certain she will know if she is there yet, and will greet it with wonder, not scanning the horizon for what is ahead, but enjoying the moment by moment of her new adventure.