I sleep the sleep of the dead on the plane. Probably something to do with my schedule of late and (could it be?) low iron in my blood. Considering how much of it I lose every day, it wouldn't surprise me. The man sitting next to me notices that I have a sweater in my lap and asks if I came from someplace colder. I tell him no, the Bay Area is notoriously cold at night, so I've come prepared. I think my possession of this information makes him think that I'm a local. Maybe I still am.
Later, when we're about to land, it's dark. I've never noticed before how much baseball fields and football fields and tennis courts stand out when you see a city from above in the dark--I guess because they're so well-lit. The man next to me asks if the weather is the same year round. I say, yes, pretty much. It's a little colder in the winter. He says he's only been here once before, when his cousin got married in 1998. Trying to relate, I say, that's funny, I was married here in 1998 as well. He says that he's back now because that same cousin is very sick with cancer. She is 46 and has two young children. That's not okay. For women who got married (like I did) in 1998 in the Bay Area and who have two young children (like I do) and who are in their 40's (like I am) to be so sick with cancer that cousins come from across the country to sadly pay a visit.
I'm picked up by dear friends and taken to a home that somehow feels like I grew up there. Weird. I guess I did some of my growing up there. I certainly feel comfortable. With the people who live, have lived, and frequent there. He (RIP) still looms large in the books, and wall-hangings, and other miscellaneous things around the house. And that's okay. We drink champagne and laugh. My stomach muscles actually hurt from the laughing.
I don't sleep too well that first night. A party in the apartment next door. Rain. Thunder. But eventually sleep comes and stays for a while.
I spend Saturday with good friends. Friends who, even though I don't see them or talk to them much, are dear to me. People who I consider family because they've been in my life (along with her) for 25 years now. Most of them seem well and happy. One of them seems sad. Which makes me a little sad. In general, we laugh a lot. We talk about a lot of different things. Some reminiscing. Some talk about how things are now. Some talk about the future. Mostly we just enjoy being around each other. It's rare anymore. We eat amazing food. And drink amazing drinks. And celebrate her--our friend/sister/niece/daughter/wife/mother. A truly incredible woman. The boy is king of the castle. Beloved. As he should be. I think he is a perfect combination of both of them. Nothing could make me miss having children that age, but I do wish my children were here. So I wouldn't have to tell people how beautiful and smart and funny they are--they could see for themselves.
That night I sleep well. I'm surprised when I wake up at how soundly I slept.
Sunday morning I walk to the BART station. I could have taken the city bus, but frankly, I would rather walk a thousand miles in bare feet than ride a city bus for 10 minutes. In any city. I don't know either. But it also happens to be a beautiful morning in Berkeley. Perfect temperature. People of all types out in the streets walking dogs and drinking coffee and going from one place to another. Most of them aren't dragging a suitcase behind like I am, but that's okay. I walk past Barney's (the best burgers on planet earth) and Zachary's (the best pizza on planet earth) and the day makes me homesick. It is still my home. I am still a local. If I could come back, I probably would.
I take a not-too-long BART ride and get to see his family. New beautiful baby who looks like both her sisters combined. The first one runs out to hug me. Sometimes being an auntie is awesome. Everyone looks well and seems happy. They seem to have a better sense of humor about the newborn thing than we ever did. Delicious lunch. Then back to the airport.
I sleep only a little on the plane this time. Or maybe it was a lot. I honestly don't know.
When I walk to the car parked at the curb, when I'm still too far away to see anything more than silhouettes, I see the silhouettes of small hands waving at me. I get in and kiss him.
Home will always be where they are.