The Gift of a Detour

It was the evening of Thursday, July 2nd, and the beginning of what was supposed to be a weeklong little adventure in Spain. Our suitcases were half-packed, I had already sifted through clean and dirty clothes spread across my side of the closet floor, and I was filled with the excitement of leaving the next day. We had spent months looking forward to this trip. Philip's daughter was graduating from a 12-month music program in Valencia, Spain, and it felt meaningful that both sides of her family, her immediate family from Texas and her Irish family, would gather from different corners of the world to celebrate her accomplishment together.

When I walked through the door that evening, Philip was sitting in the study. I can picture it all now... the soft glow of the computer monitor lighting up his face in the room. He looked stressed, he said, "I tried checking us in for our flights, but it wouldn't let me check you in. Your passport expires in September, and they won't let you fly into Europe."

You know the way it looks when a weighted object is dropped into still water? That’s what comes to my mind right now as I remember the way those words landed for me. I felt this strange ripple in the pit of my stomach. It was disbelief at first and then I felt so hurt and left behind. My heart sank. A deep, hollow ache opened in the pit of my stomach, as though all the air had quietly escaped the room. How had I missed this? We had planned for months. We had talked about flights, booked the apartment we would stay in, we had talked about graduation plans for that Monday, I had thought about restaurants and cafe’s I would like to visit with my in-laws, and I had envisioned the areas I would love to see. Somehow, this one detail had slipped through unnoticed.

Almost instantly, another voice appeared. It wasn't speaking about passports anymore. It was telling an old story.

Of course this happened.

You don't belong.

Things like this always happen to you.

In my mind I could already see it unfolding. I would quietly unpack my suitcase while listening to Philip zip his closed. I would watch him carry his luggage to the front door, hear the Uber arrive outside, watch the taillights disappear down the street, and know he was headed to Spain without me. Alone because circumstances had quietly written me out of the story... again. The little girl inside me translated it into familiar words: Forgotten. Left behind. Unwanted.

No.

I have been through this old story many times throughout my life and the old way of handling it was to escape it in some way. But through the years, I had learned enough about myself to recognize that story before it swallowed me whole. This wasn't about a passport anymore. My brain was reaching backward, searching for old evidence to explain a present disappointment. I had to interrupt it before it became my reality. I had to gently quiet that frightened voice and choose another perspective.

Philip and I decided we would try everything we could to get an expedited passport the next morning before our evening flight.

Morning came with cautious hope.

Phone call after phone call led to the same answer.

Closed.

The federal offices had shut down for the Fourth of July holiday as the United States prepared to celebrate its 250th anniversary. There would be no emergency appointment. No last-minute miracle. The decision had been made for us.

Grief settled over me.

I wanted to disappear.

You know what I wanted to do, actually? I wanted to pull every blanket and pillow from our bed, carry them into an empty closet somewhere in our home, close the door behind me, and let the darkness wrap around me until the week was over. I wanted to shut the world out of my miserable existence, doomscroll my brain into mush, forget the vacation I wasn't taking, and simply hibernate until Philip came home. I knew how to do that. I had years of practice in making myself dissapear when life hurt.

But something inside of me is changing… finally. Because I have also been putting the opposite into practice.

Instead of surrendering to that familiar place, I looked at Philip and asked if he would help me change my flight.

If I couldn't go east across the Atlantic, maybe I could go north instead.

My twin sister, Trish, had just moved to Maine only six weeks earlier with her precious little family. Rather than spending my vacation mourning the trip I had lost, maybe I could spend it embracing the people I love and whom I find myself missing at times. Instead of watching the week slip away from behind a closed closet door, perhaps I could fill it with pine trees, long and quiet country roads, quaint towns, a Canadian border, a beautiful New England porch on cool summer mornings, and the laughter of my sister, brother-in-law, and niece.

It wasn't the vacation I had planned for.

But it was exactly the one my heart needed. The week has passed, and I was able to make the most wonderful memories with family in Maine.

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