I am excited about the trip, but still I am angry. Taking my children home is important to me, but this is not just a homecoming. It is a fact finding mission. One I resent having to make.
We fly on Tuesday and are in Target on Saturday to find things to entertain the children on the plane. The youngest gets activity books and the oldest gets novels. I am not getting anything because I already have three non-fiction titles packed away. I don’t expect to actually read them, of course. After all, this is traveling with children.
It is also traveling with purpose. No matter how much I am looking forward to seeing relatives I haven’t seen for over a decade, I know what waits for me on Thursday. We’re touring what is effectively our family cemetery, looking at a plot sort of near our dearly departed to see if we want to place Mom’s ashes there. Eight urns can fit in the plot. I’ve already decided it would be comforting to me to know where my remains would go after my death, so this would be my plot too. Me and mom in the ground together, whenever that would be. It feels weird to think of it, but there you have it.
Funeral arrangements are never a vacation.