Making Hard Decisions in Unexpected Circumstances
Sometimes all we want is to be together, but we just can't.
Vacation Adjustments
My son, Lazarus, graduated from college in May. When asked what he wanted for his graduation present, he said he wanted to go to Dublin, Ireland this summer.
We started planning the trip. Then he mentioned that he was excited to see the Northern Lights. But after a quick Google, we discovered that you can’t see the Northern Lights from Dublin in the summer.
“Do you still want to go?” I asked.
“Mmm…” He looked disappointed. “I really want to see the Northern Lights.”
“Okay, then, new Google!” Sitting next to one another, we searched for the best place to see the Northern Lights.
Tromsø, Norway in December was our best bet.
I had never before thought to myself that Norway was one of the places in the world that I would travel to. Not because I have any reason not to… it’s just… cold. And snowy. And dark all day long in December.
“Are you sure?” I asked him.
“I’m sure,” he said with the conviction he usually has in his voice when he wants something.
My son knows what he wants and rarely wavers without having weighed all evidence for why he should change his mind on anything. He’s steadfast and dedicated. He wanted to see the Northern Lights. This was the best place to do it. This was the best time to do it. And that’s what he wanted. Period.
“Should it just be me and you or…?” I asked, knowing full well that anybody else would take some convincing.
“I want Rose to come, too.” Lazarus has always had a special bond with his sister, and, despite her constant ribbing and manipulation, he treats her like she is his best friend.
“Okay, you’ve got it. Anyone else? Keep in mind I’ll pay for you and your sister, but other people can pay for themselves.”
We invited his father, who declined. We invited his stepfather, Rose’s dad, who declined. We invited my boyfriend at the time, who declined. We invited his uncle Sam, who declined.
“Ah, c’mon, Sam! It’s Viking land!”
“I have to work!” Sam always says he has to work. No matter how far in advance we try to plan something.
“Am I going to have to miss school?” Rose wanted to know.
“Well, yeah, but just a week right before your winter break.” I had started scouting tickets and the week of Christmas was notably more expensive and had less excursion options. The week before Christmas would mean I’d have to give my students take-home finals, which I knew the department wasn’t going to love, but I could do it.
I planned the whole thing—when we’d fly, where we’d stay, what activities we’d go on. I ran it by the kids. They didn’t like it. What about this? Or that? That didn’t sound fun.
So, I kicked it back to them.
“Keeping in mind that this is Lazarus’ graduation gift and he gets final say, why don’t you all do your own research, figure out what you want to do, then tell me and I’ll book it and pay for it. You get one week in Norway. Let me know what you decide.”
I gave them a budget and a couple of weeks to figure it out. When their deadline arrived, they humorously said that they wanted pretty much exactly what I had put together anyway. But the thing about autonomy is it makes everything else more appealing. Even though the plan was the same, they felt better about it now that it was their idea.
It was May and I had our flights, hotel, and excursions booked for December. Our trip was planned.
As the end of the year loomed, I bought snow boots, compression socks, and a winter coat—all things necessary for a trip to Norway that I never need in SoCal. I bought socks for the kids, too, and boots for Rose. I booked the Uber to the airport and a taxi from the airport in Norway to our creepy little hotel in Tromsø.
This is the first time I’d be taking the kids to another country on my own. A few years ago, my then fiancé took us all to Cabo San Lucas in Mexico and, despite their initial resistance, the kids loved it. We had gone parasailing and released baby turtles into the ocean. Despite being underage, they were even allowed to drive four-wheelers.
But now I was doing this on my own. My fiancé had been the mastermind before, soliciting our input on all activities, but handling all the important details.
I wanted to get this right for my kids. I was secretly frustrated that a man wouldn’t be going with us. I think I’d have felt safer if one of their dads or my brother was in attendance. But I also delighted in the opportunity to show my kids that I was just as capable as anyone else of planning an international family vacation.
A week before the kids were scheduled to meet me in California before flying to Norway together, Rose got sick. She had a stuffed-up nose and a fever.
Each day I checked on her, hoping that she’d start feeling better before her flight.
But she wasn’t feeling better.
The day before her scheduled departure, I explained that we were going to have to come up with a contingency plan. There was no way I was going to put her on a flight, especially an eleven-hour one, with congestion that could cause her eardrums to burst.
“I’ll wear earplugs,” she offered. “I think I’ll be fine, Mom. I want to go.”
“I know you do, Baby, but I’ve flown while sick before and my ears hurt so badly—I won’t let that happen to you. I’m sure we can adjust. I just want you to feel better. Maybe we can push the trip out a week. Let me see what I can do.”
When Lazarus arrived in California, I asked him if he was willing to push the trip out a week. He seemed disappointed but agreed.
I’m naϊve though. And this is how I learn. Through experience, apparently. Because we couldn’t just “push the trip out a week.” The tickets I had bought were non-refundable. The airline wasn’t willing to work with me and would only refund my tickets with a doctor’s note. Then I’d have to buy new tickets at the current price, which were three times the amount I had originally spent. There was absolutely no way I could afford it.
“Baby girl, the best they’ll let me do is allow you to fly out later in the day. Maybe you’ll feel better this evening.” She agreed and I paid $50 for a same-day ticket change.
An hour later, Rose called, along with her dad, to say that she wasn’t feeling better at all and probably wouldn’t later. I agreed. We were going to have to do something else.
“Let me talk to Laz and we’ll come up with something,” I told Rose.
“No, Mom, just go without me. You and Laz should go without me,” she coughed, as if for emphasis.
“I don’t want to go without her,” Lazarus said. I didn’t either.
“Well, we could try again next year. That’s the best I can do because I can’t afford tickets for next week as they are priced now. Especially since I can’t get my money back.” Even if Rose did go see a doctor, the airline wanted a note dated before her flight, which was in a couple of hours. It just wasn’t going to happen. Even my travel credit card, with its insurance against unexpected things disrupting travel plans, still wanted a doctor’s note and would only cover up to a certain amount, not the entire cost of her portion of the trip.
In the end, we decided that Lazarus and I would go to Norway and Rose would stay home for the holidays and get well. “I’m sad about Norway,” she said, “but I’m sadder that we won’t all be together.”
Lazarus and I felt the same way.
On the first leg of our trip, I was surprised to see that there was a free seat next to me on an otherwise very full plane. I pushed my bag over, enjoying the extra leg room. Then I remembered.
Oh. Right. That was the other seat I had paid for. Rose’s seat.
Living Adjustments
“Heidi, I’m moving to Texas.”
It’s sometimes hard to tell when Sam’s being serious. He’s likely to get excited about things, but he has also proven himself to follow through on things he gets excited about. So, I believed him.
He went on to tell me how much more affordable Texas was than Colorado, how the weather was better and he’d be able to ride his motorcycle in the winter.
“And there are universities there you can teach at, too,” he assured me.
Ah, the campaign!
The funny thing is, I just finished telling my mother that, despite her and Sam campaigning for me to move to Colorado for the past couple of years, I’d just renewed my lease in California.
We were all on a Snapchat call now, Sam, our mother, and me. When I told Sam that I had renewed my lease, he flipped me off and our mother started crying.
“I was so close!” she said, sniffling. “I almost had my babies together.”
She told Sam that I would never move to Texas. It’s too much a red state for my liberal ways.
“Momma, don’t worry,” I told her. “I’m sure I’ll see you just as much. And if I can’t afford to live here anymore, which is likely at some point, I’ll come crawling home to one of you to take care of me.”
She laughed and wiped her face, nodding.
The Family Homestead
Growing up, our family moved constantly. We never seemed to stay in one place for even a year. Or if we did, it was barely longer than that. Move, move, move, move, move. Sam and I credit our nomadic spirits to this upbringing. His has taken him on the road as a truck driver, picking up and delivering food goods all over the US of A. Mine has taken me to schools outside the state we grew up in, and I’ve continued to move frequently within those states.
But we’re getting older. Sam and I haven’t had our whole family together in decades. He’s trying to convince our dad to move from Ohio to Texas, too. We could all be in one place again. Finally. But Mom’s in Colorado. I’m in California. Dad is hard to convince for just about anything. Well, I suppose we all are.
And at the same time, Sam’s kids are in New Mexico. He wants to bring them home, to live with him, as soon as possible. My kids have chosen to live with their fathers in two different states for this period of their lives. We are all so spread out. It’s like a miracle getting any one of our families to be in the same room.
The idea of my kids being with me, Sam’s kids being with him, and both Sam and I being with both our parents in the same state, to say nothing of under the same roof, feels like a pipe dream.
What’s next
I don’t know. I don’t know what’s next. Lazarus and I are currently sitting at a table in the Ami Hotel in Tromsø, Norway. Rose is resting (hopefully) in Oregon. Sam and Mom are in Colorado while Sam’s kids are in New Mexico. Dad’s trying to find a way to move out of his current situation in Ohio. We are all still in flux. Settling doesn’t seem to be something in our bloodline.
But if it were possible, I’d go to Texas. To be with everyone. To have everyone near. Can’t say I’d love it or that I’d stay long. But I’d go.
“I’ve noticed the endings to your essays are abrupt,” my sister-in-law told me when we video chatted from the Oslo airport last night. “It’s like, I get into it and then it just kinda stops. Like, is that it?” She laughed and I laughed with her.
“You are so right,” I agreed. “I do need to work on my endings. Sometimes, I just don’t know how things are going to end. And then they just…do.”
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I write better when I’m sipping wine or tea.
Next week will be all about this trip to Norway with lots of pictures. In the meantime, feel free to read past essays about travel adventures I’ve taken: