From Galavanting to Grief

On travel, loss, and learning to be still

I distinctly remember trying to remind myself to be present and enjoy the quiet, and peaceful time I had when I was away. Some days I felt like I wasn’t doing enough (as someone who likes to make a plan and pack a day with things to do), but that was the whole point. To be at ease, to be free, to go wherever the wind blew me. I did just that when I let go of my usual way of thinking. Just relax, Kamaria. Just be. That’s what I told myself.

My second to last day away I returned to work, holed up in my room in the early afternoon taking calls and clacking away at the laptop. Earlier that day, I wandered the streets. I got my favorite croissant and pain aux raisins, then stumbled into a coffee shop that I passed a few times before. It wasn’t as picturesque as some of my favorites I had been to, but one thing to note, no matter where you are, is that picturesque doesn’t always mean it’s good. After ordering my oat latte, I sat in the window reminding myself that you can’t judge a book by its cover. With the sun warming my forearms, a lo-fi (feels wrong to say this) rendition of “Feel Like Makin’ Love” played softly through the speakers. A version that made it tough to identify the song until the chorus. With my latte in hand, I turned to the barista to ask what playlist we were listening to. He, like me, let SoundCloud do the work. And there I was reminded that home can be whatever and wherever you want it to be. This was my same routine I’d done time and time again. Coffee. Playlist. Repeat.

Views at said coffee shop in Paris.

I’m infamous for extending a trip. Just one more day. Just one more hit of whatever the wanderlust high is that keeps me in a feverdream. This time was different. I was at peace with going home—New York home, America, all that. I didn’t try to squeeze in one more thing or find an excuse to not leave, though, I was tempted when my flight got canceled and I wanted to take that as a sign. Paris was what it always was, a lovely, happy, joyous reminder that work isn’t life, kindness is reciprocal, and there is always an air of romance in the breeze. I didn’t begrudgingly drag my bags to my Uber, I almost did so with a hop in my step taking in those last breaths of fresh air (cigarette smoke and all). Peace has a way of making space for the unexpected.

If you can’t tell, or haven’t picked up on this, I love a scene. Or setting one at least. It was another sunny day and I was in the backseat of this Uber ready for the 50-minute ride to the airport. I planned to sip my Coke Zero and listen to old French pop/disco music my friend sends me at random. It’s kind of a vibe lol. He said sometimes he’s just in the mood for it and I was like you know what…hell yeah. So my first and only order of business was to go through our texts and listen to the last few songs he sent as I soaked in the moving skyline. I typed his name and my uncle’s name showed up first. This wasn’t the first time that’s happened but for some reason, on this day in that car I said, let me read our old messages.

I had already been thinking about my uncle more lately. He loved my travels. He loved hearing about them. I texted him either with my mother, or right after whenever I landed back in town. He was a traveler too. A bachelor in his own right he flew wherever he wanted, when he wanted. He planned one big vacation a year, while still prioritizing seeing my mom in Nola and my other uncle in Mississippi. And even going to Chicago sometimes. I miss him everyday but that trip I felt harder tugs. It didn’t take long before I was crying reading our messages. Remembering what were his last days, and me now knowing that, going through what I wish I had done differently. How quickly his health declined and the guilt I sometimes carry for not doing more. I kept scrolling reading our messages from before he was dealing with that specific health challenge. His messages calling me Kami. His random requests. My check ins. His hello’s from Central Park. I couldn’t look away and I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to hide my face in my hoodie not because I was embarrassed but the tears were uncontrollable and I thought the harder I pressed the fabric to my face that somehow that would make the tears stop. Eventually, it worked.

My mom texted me asking if I was at the airport yet (yes, I was good with leaving but I was still pushing it and had two hours before takeoff lol), and I debated on whether I’d tell her my thoughts. I responded and told her I was en route but a little sad thinking about my uncle because I think of him often when I travel. I knew this could open Pandora’s box and I didn’t want to be a ball of snot again. I wanted to be honest, but I also wanted to keep in mind that if I was feeling like this on a random day, that I can’t imagine how my mom feels…on any day. She responded in a way I knew she would, which broke me again. She said how much he loved me and that she gets sad a lot thinking about him and her other brother. I tried to console her as best I could via text and told her I’d let know when I made it to my gate. So much for that French pop, huh?

I made it back to NYC, not as somber, perhaps just tired. Once I made it home I walked back out to get dinner and to use my CVS coupon (use it or lose it!). I ate and crashed in the recliner. I woke up around 1AM discombobulated and saw a text from my mom asking if I was awake. Never a good message to receive, especially at midnight which was the time she sent it. I called her and she let me know our cousin had been rushed to the hospital. I was trying to make sense of it all. In feeling the feels I had been sitting in around my uncle hours earlier, I was brought back to those final moments with him three years ago. You know how they say the body holds score. I think our homes, and the walls, and the mattresses do too. I laid in my same bed praying fervent prayers that she would be okay. Waking up in the wee hours to make sure I didn’t have a text or phone call to report bad news. Waking up again and feeling relieved that he, and in this case she, was still earth side. I carried that with me for two days, that uneasy feeling, waiting for the ball to drop, while hoping and praying she’d be okay. I made it through another night. And then when working from a coffee shop my mom called to tell me she had transitioned.

All that to say, I guess my peaceful weeks away were to prepare me for some chaos. Now I’m wishing I would’ve sat in those moments just a little longer, instead of thinking about what’s next. Life changes quick y’all. And these past couple of weeks have shown me just that. No, we can’t all run away to a different place to take a breather, but we can take a moment for ourselves, whether that’s at a coffee shop, a slow stroll, or sitting on a park bench just staring because you can. Let this be your reminder to take an extra beat.

Take care of yourselves and your hearts. Until next time. <3