And half a continent away from my son.
Where we would fly home.
And I had a few minutes alone.
Out into the Baltic Sea.
First in my family to have made.
And her younger brother Toivo.
Their new homeland in 1906.
But I know it’s actually not.
And they always have been.
Or are unable to parent at all.
Sea pass beneath our ship.
24 hours, if I really needed to.
Every time the doors open.
How much taller would they be?
Was everything okay on the trip?
Which train car would they step off?
Pushing his glasses up on his face.
Which I can just barely still do.
Logistics are important to him.
Splitting his life between two countries.
And the actuarial tables say I’ll live to 86.
As the photo for this blog post.
Or even out of spite.
And I know I sound insufferable.
In my chest and my gut.
Me and people I care about.
Get me closer to my higher power?