In an alternate world, my vacation began Sunday. My parents arrived, whole and healthy and without incident, and I got to show off my new home to them.
We were going to the beach - I would show them Long Beach, Seaside, Cannon Beach, the remains of the Peter Iredale. There's a great statue of Lewis & Clark at Seaside. And there's Jake the Alligator Man and the world's largest skillet at Long Beach. Haystack Rock in all its breath-taking beauty at Cannon Beach.
We'd go to Portland, see the International Rose Test Gardens, get lost in Powell's, browse Everyday Music, go to the jazz bar, eat at Le Happy, ride the tram, see the Beverly Cleary Sculpture Garden. Eat bao at Steamers in the Lloyd Center Mall. I'd have a pint of Guinness under their disapproving gaze at Kells. I'd show them the St. John's Bridge at dusk and hope for fog.
We'd go the back way to Portland from Longview, so I could show them why my heart aches with joy at the beauty of the creation that surrounds me here. We'd go to the waterfront in St. Helens. We'd stand on the boat docks and look over at Washington.
I'd take Dad to Astoria, eat at Fort George, show him the Column, ride the trolley, take our time crossing the Astoria-Megler Bridge. I'd show them St. Mary's McGowan Church, and we'd explore the bunkers at Fort Columbia.
We'd eat clams and oysters at Oysterville. I'd show them Willapa Bay, the cranberry bogs, the Pacific Heritage Museum in Ilwaco.
I'd take them to Cape Disappointment, to North Head. They would understand why I love North Head so dearly. We'd go up the 101, toward Westport & Aberdeen.
It would be rainy and vividly green and enchanted.
I'd show them the Gray's River covered bridge. We'd stop to enjoy the cute quaintness that is Cathlamet.
We'd marvel at the desolation surrounding Mount St. Helens. I'd take them to the beautiful solitude that surrounds Rieva's house.
We'd visit an old friend south of Portland; we'd visit relatives north of Seattle. We'd take a ferry. We'd wander the market. They'd get to meet Rachel and experience Green Lake.
I'd take Mom for tea at The Brits. We'd chat with the waitress from Casper at the Cow Deli. We would meander around Lake Sacajawea. She and I would plunder the treasures of Goodwill and the Red Hat, scoring bargains and goodies galore. I'd finally get to show her why I heart Fred Meyer so much.
I'd take Dad to Hart C's for Thai food, and he could talk to the guy there whose dad escaped from the Khmer Rouge.
I'd show them my office, the press, my desk - my inky, wordy world. They would hear Andre's sigh, Taco's rambling, the way our copier/printer wheezes and groans. They'd finally put faces to the names that fill my stories.
We'd giggle over the squirrel bridges and the suirrel statue/deity by the library. I'd show Dad our lovely library, and he'd understand why I tremble a little with excitement every time I open its old, heavy doors to enter its quiet, musty page-scented interior. We'd take the revolving door into the Monticello. I'd try to explain navigating Longview to Dad. We'd eat fish n' chips at Cap'n Yoby's. I'd take them up the Westside Highway & show them Riverside Park.
In another universe, maybe Some Other Sarah is showing Some Other Mom and Dad around the Pacific Northwest. Some Other Dad is healthy, and his mind is whole. Some Other Mom is unburdened by the weight of the world and is ready to just relax a bit.
In this universe, though ...
My mom cries herself to sleep and has to plan trips to visit her husband/best buddy a hundred miles and change away.
My dad can barely remember who he talked to today, but not what they talked about. Or where he is.
Or why he's there.
Or that he's not sizing up recruits for the base in Thailand anymore.
In this universe, I cry a lot.
My world is very different from what I had planned.
From what it should have been.
It's pointless and childish, but some days, I feel like the only response I have is to stomp my foot really, really hard and scream: "It's not FAIR!"
Because it isn't.
And I feel so very much like a lost child right now.
