Vienna was calling so loud it’s still ringing in my ears. Going home always comes with a special kind of anxiety paired with an unbearable amount of excitement. Needless to say I couldn’t sleep for several nights before my departure. I was super early at the airport, I was not going to miss my flight come hell or high water. It’s not like I ever missed my flight before but there is always a first and I wasn’t going to let this time being my first.
As I got onto the plane and sat down in the first row (to ensure I was going to be the first one off the plane) my anxiety level almost reached an all-time high, second only to my wedding and the first day of spring when Rita’s opens (it’s a Philly thing…). As we landed in Vienna, I could feel my heart in my throat. It’s been two years since I last saw my family and even longer since I last was in Vienna (not counting a 45 minute layover last December).
I practically ran out of the airport dragging my suitcase full of presents for my 4-year old niece. I stumbled more than once over my own feet and totally got lost when my brother tried to instruct me on where to exit. I also almost got run over twice when I spotted my dad’s car in the parking lot and tried to cross the street.
I wish there were words for describing that overwhelming feeling I felt rushing through my body. It’s a special kind of feeling, love rushing through every part of your body and the longer you try to contain this feeling, the more intense it gets.
I spend all week with my family, we did everything together, even the small silly things, playing games, going for walks or going running multiple times with my dad, going grocery shopping, talking about whatever comes to your mind. For a brief moment in time, I was home again, the daughter that will never shut up, the annoying bigger and little sister that will try everything to push all my brothers’ (yes, I have two) buttons. For a brief moment in time I was the aunt that would go look for Easter eggs in the garden and would run really really really fast to catch up to my little niece.
Before I knew it, I had to pack my things and return to the home I made, away from my parents’ house with A. And as we stood at the airport, time moved with double speed. It is fun going home, doing the things you used to do, sharing meals together and for a moment slip back into all patterns. I think we all need that every now and then, we need to remind ourselves, where we come from, so we can move on. So we can be excited about the future.
As far as my trip goes, it was exactly what I needed. Nothing fancy or extraordinary, just being with the people that made me the person I am today. Being reminded of why I am the way I am and beyond anything feeling loved the way only your family can love you, that’s the best part of going home.