I never expected my next trip back to California to be tinged with sadness–well, other than sadness in visiting my in-law family and revisiting memories of Ken and the life we once shared when we lived there–not to be with the family and support each other through the loss of Ken’s older brother who died suddenly not yet a week ago. It was sudden and somewhat unexpected, and a blow to a family still mourning the loss of Ken last June.

I’ve done my best to support them all from Chicago since learning the news, but am relieved and–admittedly, a little daunted–to head there myself to offer whatever emotional support I can–even if just as “the jester,” a role that has come naturally to me since…always. Long before Ken got sick we became family. In fact, from the moment I met all of them I don’t ever remember feeling like anything but family. In so many ways it has remained easy to stay close.

When I sit and think about it, there is something unique and innately confounding about no longer having a spouse that linked you to his family. It’s not about love or respect. It’s just learning to operate without something that was once a vital part of the experience. It can seem very much like a metaphor for Ken himself, who learned on two separate occasions some twenty years apart to maneuver without parts of his leg. During his last months he made us promise to stay close as a family. It wasn’t hard promise to make. I never had any doubt.

I’ve often wondered why he asked us to make the promise. Was he afraid once he was gone his family would turn their back and ostracize me, or was he predicting my pattern for isolating myself when in pain? It doesn’t matter, really. I think what he needed to know was that we’d be there for each other through good times and bad, and that hasn’t proven difficult.

In trying to take a page from Ken’s impressive lesson book–in spite of the reason for my trip–I decided to really do my best to “embrace the journey.” Not a frequent traveler and definitely someone who has historically viewed it only as a “means to a destination” I’ve rarely taken the time to appreciate the journey. Ken’s absence was glaring to me last time I traveled to Los Angeles for Thanksgiving with his family. He was a great distractor and a constant reminder of the humor and wonder that surrounds–particularly while traveling. This time, maybe he was with me a little bit.

I thought of him on the cab right to the airport this morning, and our last trip westward together–for Christmas in 2009 before his hemipelvectomy surgery scheduled for mid-January. Despite what he was facing and the pressure of celebrating a concentrated and perfect holiday, and the physical pain and anxiety he was experiencing, he was still my other half and my rock. Yin and yang. A true balance. Understanding that I have to do that for myself has its sadness, but also offers a challenge that doesn’t seem completely insurmountable–particularly given the stellar set for me by my beloved.

This morning when the cab dropped me off at O’Hare, it was the first time I didn’t find my heart racing with nervousness and anticipation to just get through security and get seated and wait–just get to my destination, journey be damned. I looked around, and took in all the people. Interesting people. Excited and traveling to destinations unknown. It was fun and light, and made me appreciate…well, everything.

I sashayed through the security check point and almost gave a high five to the TSA agent who waved me through. (I know I should have, but some of them are necessarily humorless for good reason.) For the first time ever, I didn’t just head to my gate and wait for my flight to board. I found the food court and after ordering my “breakfast of champions”, sat and people watched until just shortly before my flight was called. Amongst a place I usually find chaotic and IBS-inducing, I was relaxed.

Probably the most exciting injection I’ve given my trip is my class of service. Non-refundable first class? Who knew? It wasn’t a lot more than flying coach and at 6’3″ leg room and elbow room are at a premium. (Plus, I’m a bit of a closet elitist who doesn’t mind paying a little extra for the peace of mind of not being crammed into a seat, flying shoulder-to-shoulder next to a line backer for a four-hour flight.)

I hope that doesn’t make me a 1% wannabe, but I was disappointed there was no curtain separating “us” from “them” in steerage. Maybe I’ll offer to use the soft fleece blanket from the pocket in front of me.

My flight lands in Palm Springs in a few ours where I’ll be greeted by my mother- and father-in-law. I’m really looking forward to seeing them; hugging them, and doing my best to love and support them.

Hey! I think that guy from “the back of the plane” is using “our” bathroom!

Oh! There is a curtain!