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| My sons enjoying a moment out of the car during a road trip |
When I think back, when I remember, we are in the car. Me and my four sons, on our way.
It is being in the car that is the thing.
They are mine when we are in the car.
Oh, I know, they are not mine. They belong to themselves, these small boys fighting over who is the red ranger, spilling sports drinks on the seats, singing their hearts out to Higher by Creed.
Did I say small boys? They were, I remember.
Yet I can also look back and they are teenagers of various stages. When we are just us in the car, on our way places but not yet arrived, they are still mine. Okay, they belong to themselves, I know. They tell me clearly, with attitudes that suit each one individually but say the same: drive us, but let us go.
Oh, my heart. Did I say teenagers? They were, I swear it.
But now, look at these men in my car. My sons. We are on our way after having picked up my youngest from the airport. They are visiting me from their own homes around the world; some have spouses and children waiting for us to arrive. I stole this time for myself. Only me and them alone in the car. We are singing our hearts out to Mariana’s Trench, Three Days Grace, remembering live shows I took them to. We are singing our hearts out and I am tempted never to arrive.
The truth: I have arrived when we are us in the car.
Yet I must let them go so they, too, can arrive.
How could I deny them, these men who are my heart, who influence the colour of my days, the bounce in my step, the tightness in my chest, the direction of my thoughts, how could I deny them this feeling of having arrived?
This feeling that is mine only when I am denying it to them. This feeling that is mine when they are alone with me and I am sharing them with no one else.
I need to know they know this feeling.
If they recognize this feeling of home – for that is how I feel when it is me and my four sons alone in a car: home – I can breathe easily, knowing they have access to this perfect feeling.
When I think back, when I remember, we are in the car. Me and my four sons, on our way.
When I open my eyes, when I am now, I see them in their cars, on their way.
Driving the boys gave me the gift of being with them, taking them where they needed to go.
Arriving was never the point.
Driving the boys until they were able to drive themselves, that was the point.
We did it often, we did it well, we did it while singing out hearts out.
We do it still, when we can.
An arrival worth revisiting.
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