The first time I took a plane, I was 19. I was married, living in a strange, lonely little town at the tip of civilization. I was very homesick, lonely and pregnant. I remember being scared. My first flight was all alone. I was going home! That's what I kept saying to myself. "I am going home to where I know people."
I remember little else about the flight, except... The woman I sat next to only spoke Spanish and that I used every barf bag on the entire plane! No lie, well many though! I was surprised that the well dressed Spanish speaking woman knew I was pregnant.
Looking back, in retrospect, who couldn't tell that I was pregnant, too young and truly in need of a hug.
As I flew over the clouds today, I remembered that first, so long ago. I wish I could go back in time and hug that darling girl. And I would whisper in her ear..."Run now, don't look back, there is more out there"
But, then again, I ended up with four of the most beautiful, wonderful children. And I like who I turned out to be.
I went on an airplane all alone again today. My thoughts were mire "Do I pay for the extra insurance on the rental car or not", and how will my kids do on their weekend of firsts without me.
All is good! Life is good... We should all fly more often!
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