Chapter 14 - The Vacation I Paid For Myself
At sixty-eight, my Someday Fund finally became large enough.
I booked my own trip.
No Daniel.
No Macy.
No grandchildren.
Just Evelyn.
I chose Maine.
I wanted rocky coastline, cold mornings, and lighthouses.
When I told Daniel, he smiled.
“When?”
“October.”
“Need help paying?”
“No.”
“Need help booking?”
“No.”
“Need me at all?”
I pretended to think.
“You can drive me to the airport.”
He laughed.
“Deal.”
At the airport, he hugged me.
“Call when you land.”
“I raised you.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
“Yes, I'll call.”
Macy hugged me next.
Then whispered:
“Don't babysit anybody.”
I laughed.
“I've learned.”
In Maine, I watched sunrise beside a lighthouse.
I ate lobster badly.
I got lost twice.
I made friends with another solo traveler.
I bought postcards for the grandchildren.
One evening, I sat beside the water and thought about Frank.
“I made it,” I whispered.
Not merely to Maine.
To myself.
For decades, I had believed sacrifice was the highest form of love.
Now I understood love also meant allowing people—including yourself—to live.
I returned home with photographs, seashells, and confidence.
At baggage claim, three children tackled me.
“Grandma!”
Behind them stood Daniel and Macy.
Macy held a homemade sign.
WELCOME HOME, WORLD TRAVELER.
May you like
I laughed until I cried.
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