Going “Home” 

We’re flying from the so-called new world to the old.   An epic 24-hour journey of waiting, sitting, contemplating.  And I hold my breath for the entire journey.  Waiting to exhale as I travel into the past.  Into lives that never stopped, even after I left.  They just went on living and created new realities to which I no longer belong, no longer recognize.  Except for the echoes and the sparkling memories that continuously spring to mind.    

“We have started our descent into Stockholm Arlanda airport”.  Descending into gratitude, wonder, memories and parents’ embrace. 

Aging 

We do it all the time.  Just not something we think much about.  Until we start kindergarten maybe.  Or when our older siblings or friends get their driver’s license.  And then our parents turn 50.  Then we turn 50.  And our hair turns gray.  
 
And now I sit here with my aged father, just turned 84.  Losing his eyesight and hearing. Slowly and irreversibly.  A shot at the hospital to slow down the disease.  But only to slow.  Still aging continues.  And our bodies decline.  Eventually. Universally. 

Then there’s the wisdom, gratitude and acceptance that comes with aging and how it washes over us.   We are just a little more gracious, a little more forgiving, a little more generous.  Things don’t matter so much.  In the face of aging, winning an argument is not that important anymore.  Sigh it away.   Accept a common understanding.  Offer a little peace.  Gift everyone a bit of harmony. 

“Yes, yes, you’re probably right about that.” 

Affinity 

The little red and white houses, the birch trees, the way the sunlight hits the green fields.  The smell of the ancient church from 1020 in Old Uppsala.  How is it possible that this building has existed for over a 1,000 years?  Yet here it is.  And how is it that this place speaks to me?  How many generations of ancestors passed through these doors, walked out into this landscape, looked up at the same sky and smiled at the same sun? 
 
Something tugs, whispers to me.  This is where you existed.  Before.  In your unaged life.  Your childhood, memories of dogs, best friends, building forts in the forests, roaming the countryside on bikes, then mopeds, dreams of adventure, before heading across the oceans.  
 
I look at my father’s face and into his failing eyes and see the love of a parent for his child.  The echo of the universal embrace of all fathers and mothers for their children.  

“Take good care of yourself.  Maybe we will see each other again one more time.”