I'm home

It's early morning in Minnesota on December 11th. It's still completely dark outside, and I can hear the water running as my little brother takes a shower before school. I'd say that my mind's a blank, but's it's not true. Traveling home was such a swirl of emotions; sometimes I had no idea how I felt about anything. Coming into Chicago, I had to run to make my flight, which was pretty funny considering that I had two huge bags and no luggage cart. But I made it to the gate, and once I stopped long enough to look around me, it was so strange. For some reason, the London Heathrow airport hadn't bothered me, perhaps because I had no expectations for what it'd be like. But this was Chicago, and it stunned me.

Everybody was on cell phones, sitting a healthy distance apart from everybody else, lest an accidental brush of jacket sleeves occur. Outside, the airport was bathed in the pinkish glow of a sunset (yep, at 4 PM), and there was so much empty space I wasn't sure it was real. Getting on the plane in total darkness, I wasn't really sure what to do. I couldn't read, and listening to my iPod threatened to pull me into total emotional disarray. So I just sat.

Once the captain infomed us that we were beginning our descent into Minneapolis, I looked out the window. We'd just broken through the cloud cover, and everything down below was sparkling and shimmering as porch lights and headlights broke through the night. The entire ground below me was lit up with lines of light, and it looked a bit like the side of the world's most intricate Christmas tree. Downtown Minneapolis came into view, with the Wells Fargo tower and Metrodome alive with lights of their own, and everything slid into place. I wasn't panicked anymore. I wasn't angry that people looked and interacted differently than I'd remembered. I was coming home, and I couldn't wait to see my family.

Striding through the airport, I was a woman on a mission. I came down the escalator and saw my Dad sitting in a row of benches. I was about ten feet away before he recognized me, which is more than understandable considering I had about a foot more hair when he last saw me. We hugged, and only then did I start to cry.

Driving home was... well, driving home. There were a few seconds when I was confused about why we weren't on the other side of the road, but otherwise it felt strangely normal. Getting home, I was only excited to see my family. I wasn't nervous; I wasn't anxious. Everybody looked a little different (God, Harry's so tall!), but they'll always be my family.

Just as I was getting ready for bed, things swung back the other way. I've been battling God-knows-what-kind-0f-amoeba-or-parasite for the last few weeks, and I thought that I'd beaten it. Oh, no. I couldn't sleep, and my skin was all itchy. I felt helpless. I had just wanted to come home, hug everyone, and go to bed, since we'd been traveling for almost forty-eight hours. I started to cry, and as I had many times while in India, I wanted my Mommy. But she was right in the next room, and she came in and hugged me. Eventually, dazed and a little feverish, I fell asleep.

And now I'm awake, having risen from my marshmallow of a bed. My mind is full with what the coming weeks will bring, with everything that I'll get to do and all the people I'll get to hug. I have no obligations; I have nothing on my plate that I'm dreading. I know I won't be on this constant high forever, but for now, I'm flying.

Love,
Sarah