these arms of mine
A frightened pilot trips makes an announcement: we're going down. People are screaming, babies are crying, and the air breathes chaos.
I try and imagine my final moments. Would I be screaming? Silent and stunned? Would I find sudden clarity right before my death?
In reality, the flight was as smooth as whipped butter, and I arrived in Vancouver to the open arms of my mother.
For months, weeks, days I have been craving those arms. I haven't seen her since Christmas, and she is my confidante, my inspiration and my greatest companion.
I have left the city of the CN tower and my life at the busy restaurant to spend a week with family in Vancouver. We are celebrating my grandparents 60th anniversary, and in a couple of nights will feast, drink, and dance to Irish music in their name.
In the meantime, I'm re-grounding myself in the city of my birth, in the house I grew up in, and with the family I adore.
I feel blessed. With the sun shining, this is one of the most ideal settings in the world. The mountains hover over me while the ocean beckons me to its side.
Last night we made burgers, while I whipped up some cocktails, then ate, talked and laughed with my family on the deck outside as the sun set.
My lips are smiling, my body is relaxed, and these arms of mine want to embrace everything around me.