Book of Mom

Mom and I were on the last leg of our flight back from New York City, both of us amused by the pilot's casual way of pointing out Colorado towns and scenery below us through the wisps of clouds. She suddenly nudged me and gestured out toward Twin Lakes, which we could barely see out to the south. Twin Lakes, where my grandparents had a home for years and years, in the middle of the mountains. Where Sam and I had many adventures, and where my mom and her siblings had sometimes had to find refuge from individual experiences that hadn't worked out so well in their younger years. I watched her looking out the window with a quiet eagerness and I tried to figure out what she was thinking. Was she merely a bit sentimental, or maybe reflecting back, reliving memories from times at her parents' cabin in the woods? Possibly wondering how her life would have been different if she'd done X-Y-Z instead of A-B-C? I don't know why I felt compelled to wonder about this, other than maybe in part because I have been pondering lately where certain paths have led me in my own life. As much as then I wanted to ask Mom if she was excited to be getting back home, back to "life", I realized suddenly that I did not want to know the answer.

I squeezed her arm with a silent "I love you" and went back to my book.