PART 7 – When My Eight Weeks in Portugal Came to an End, I Had to Decide Whether Returning Home Meant Returning to My Old Life

As the end of my reservation approached, I began thinking about home.

I missed my house.

I missed Joanna.

I missed the grandchildren.

I missed familiar streets.

I missed the sound of my own kitchen.

But I also knew that I had changed.

I had spent eight weeks making decisions for myself.

I had spent eight weeks waking up without a list of things other people needed me to do.

I had spent eight weeks discovering that I enjoyed painting.

I had spent eight weeks learning that I could travel alone.

I had spent eight weeks being a person outside my family.

That was something I didn't want to lose.

I considered staying longer.

The thought surprised me.

I had originally planned to return after eight weeks.

I had booked the flight.

I had arranged for Ellen to collect my mail.

I had told everyone when I would be home.

But now I wondered whether I needed to rush back.

I looked around the little house.

The blue shutters.

The courtyard.

The terracotta pots.

The little table where I had painted.

I had become attached to the place.

I had become attached to the life I had built there.

But I also knew that I wanted to see my family.

I wanted to hug the grandchildren.

I wanted to sit at my own kitchen table.

I wanted to sleep in my own bed.

The important difference was that I no longer felt that returning home meant giving up my freedom.

I could go home and still make choices for myself.

I could love my family without being permanently available.

I could help when I wanted to help.

I could say no when I needed to say no.

That was what I had learned.

I packed my suitcase.

I folded my clothes.

I wrapped the little gifts I had bought.

I packed the watercolors.

I packed the journal.

I packed Leonard's old gray sweater.

I looked around the house one last time.

I thought about the first morning I had walked to the bakery.

I had been nervous.

I had felt out of place.

I had wondered whether I would enjoy spending so much time alone.

Now I knew that I could.

I closed the suitcase.

I stood beside the window.

The street was quiet.

I could hear footsteps outside.

Someone was speaking.

A door opened.

Then closed.

I smiled.

I would miss the little house.

But I was ready to go home.

The journey back was long.

By the time I reached the airport, I was tired.

I had spent the flight thinking about everything that had happened.

I had thought about Thanksgiving.

I had thought about the phone calls.

I had thought about the first Christmas I had spent away from home.

I had thought about Derek's apology.

I had thought about Cassandra's message.

I had thought about the little painting I had made.

I had thought about the life I wanted to live when I returned.

When I finally arrived, Joanna was waiting for me.

She waved as soon as she saw me.

I smiled.

She hugged me.

Then she stepped back and looked at me.

"You look different."

I laughed.

"Older?"

She shook her head.

"Relaxed."

I smiled.

I hadn't thought about it that way.

But she was right.

I felt relaxed.

I felt rested.

I felt like myself again.

During the drive home, I told her about the bakery.

I told her about the painting lessons.

I told her about the courtyard.

I told her about the people I had met.

She listened.

She asked questions.

She laughed at the story about my first watercolor.

When I mentioned that I might take another trip, she smiled.

"You should start planning before someone asks you to babysit a sofa."

I laughed.

I knew exactly what she meant.

We drove the rest of the way home.

I looked out the window.

The roads were familiar.

The trees were familiar.

The houses were familiar.

I felt happy to be back.

But I also felt different.

I had spent years believing that my life belonged to my family.

Now I knew that it belonged to me too.

Source: lessoninlife.net

Click here to continue reading: PART 8: My First Dinner Back at My Son’s House Was Nothing Like Thanksgiving, and I Began to Believe Our Family Could Learn a Different Way