It seems I’m endlessly crying on airplanes. Well, lately it seems I’m endlessly on airplanes in general. I’ve been endlessly crying for six months regardless. I can’t complain about this blessing though I’ve tired of it in the worst way. I’ve become that dour woman in the airport, dressed for comfort and ease at security, never checking a bag, and snorting at those who fumble their way through boarding. I still look out the window; it must count for something that the trance of seeing a city lit up at night from 30,000 feet is not lost to me yet.

I’ve developed some bizarre motion sickness. The world endlessly heaves and haws under my feet, with sweet steadiness only found riding in the car. It’s exhausting this perpetual game of trying to catch my balance when I know full well it won’t be caught. I grasp the nearest counter or pole, to be sure that the weaving in my head isn’t transferred to my outer self, lest I take a tumble. Stairs seem to be the worst and I keep running into the corner when I trek up and down twice daily to feed the cat. With every step the ground moves beneath my feet and as much as I joke, it seems to be taking a toll. Once I’m grounded for a spell I know this will fade away, but for now every morning I wake and pray for solid ground only to feel my bed lurch and roll under my opening eyes.

As for the crying, tonight it stems from a deep desire to tell the stories I haven’t yet told. I’m so afraid the days and nights of the NICU will slip away from me, that so many details already have, I try to weave the moments into stories in my mind but they leave me silently weeping into my jacket, head hopelessly buried into a cold window watching the landscape far below. I know I have forgotten so much already and I want to capture every shred of memory of Joel’s life I have left in my grief-riddled mind but the moments I have left leave me weak and despondent at their recall. I can’t seem to get them to the page.

As I packed today I did what I often do, I stared intently at his photograph and told him things. Told him I still can’t believe I had a baby but I love him so completely I know he is mine. Told him how wonderful it was to see his striking resemblance to his father. Told him how we would so love for a houseful of little brothers and sisters, all of them knowing his name. Told him how surreal it seems that he once lived in my belly. How did you fit? I ask the picture, even though my frame has yet to return to its former state, it is still so hard to imagine the giant protrusion that housed an infant. That was here? I say to the picture. Shocking. Holding you was so amazing, buddy, I say to his image, that’s when I really believed you were mine. Your feet were right here on my belly, your little arms spread eagle on my chest and your little head tucked under my chin. That was the best, wasn’t it? And your little head full of hair fit perfectly in my hand. What I’d give to cradle that little head again. How I miss you. How I miss you.

The flight attendant slowly makes her way up the aisle. She elicits my smile, only in manipulation so I can get pretzels and peanuts. Yes, I’m that girl, making my free in-flight trail mix. Shortly though, so few minutes, until this craft touches ground and I get to run into those arms again. It’s a blessing to be able to travel so much, and it’s worth it all to spend these few moments with that boy’s Daddy. We won’t have the opportunity soon, so as silly as it seems to rack up these frequent flyer miles we do it because we know this choice is short lived. He won’t be available. And then he’ll be gone so terribly far from here. So I see him every chance I can, even if it means I can’t walk the straight line to save my life and I never unpack, just do some laundry and throw it back in my trusty carry-on. If there’s one thing that wonderful baby taught me it’s that life is only lived once. Moments can’t be recaptured, chances are taken or missed. Grab on, grab hold, take what is there and waiting for you – this chance may be here a lifetime, but that lifetime might only be four and one half days.