Visit From Dana: October 2023

Dana's family story is included near the end of Backward and Blind.  Since the birth of her two children, we've stayed in closer touch; I've so enjoyed seeing photos of the grins and growth of her son and daughter. 

"I'd love to have you visit sometime," I said on the phone about a year ago.  

"We'd love to see you too," Dana added. 

"Albuquerque has an amazing hot-air balloon fiesta the first week of October, annually.  Upwards of five-hundred hot air balloons take off early in the morning -- we could go walk around as they set up and rise into the air.  The kids would love it." 

I almost could hear her eyebrows rising. 

"Google it," I suggested.  

Several weeks later, she texted with dates.  "Are these dates okay for a visit?"  

I was beside myself.  Dana was now a well-established mother, successful professional, and fun friend. She lives an airplane flight from my home city. She'd really come visit her high school math teacher?  With her kids? 

I waited in the cell phone lot on the day of their arrival with so many thoughts buzzing in my head.  I'd long since learned that meaningful friendships can be on pause for years and return with the same energy as if no time had passed. 

Then I received the text. "We are here. Just need to use the bathroom. It takes us a while." I was impatient to receive the next text but was ready to swing around through the "arrivals" area. There was no mistaking Dana, with her full-faced smile and her two young un's, clinging to her with a little trepidation. It had been about thirty years since I had seen her last. 

Seeing these young people, echoes of their mother, felt deeply emotional to me.  Was I like an aunt?  A grandma?  My age difference with Dana was somewhere between twelve and eighteen years. I knelt down to greet them by name and ask about their pet snake, their beloved classroom teacher, and their grandmother. The children looked at me with wide eyes, surprised I knew so much about them. Paul and I were ready for them.  We had cleaned the house, found old age-appropriate toys from when our children were young, made beds, and purchased kid-friendly food.  It felt as though we were so very ready for grand-parent-hood. 

Her children willingly and politely rose at 4:30 am the next morning to make the trek to the balloon fiesta field, even though they really had no understanding of what they were about to witness.  Their energy exploded with the burners at the start, then they ran fast and furious between the baskets of the balloons, reaching for the sky as the balloons rose to the sound of the whistle of the crew chief.  

Back at home, Paul enthusiastically beckoned the children to our air-hockey table, recently dusted off from ten years of non-use, and hours of shrieking followed. I played grandma, sneaking chocolates to them in the back seat of the car as we drove to the snake museum. We viewed the recent annular eclipse from a park in Albuquerque, as the children ran around the park and marveled at the ghost-like shadow that formed when the moon progressed in front of the sun. 

And Dana?  We could chat for hours about this-and-that, like sisters or lifetime friends. We prepared food, in the kitchen together, completely in sync and anticipating the others' needs. She was surprised I remembered random things about her -- like the fact that when she purchases shoes, she has to buy two different pairs because her feet are two different sizes.

Then they were at the airport, walking through the door. 

What happened that week felt magical. My family expanded to now include Dana and her two darling children, Paul and I began to plan our trip to their house. 

I was reminded of a time in about 1992 when Dana had I had gone to a concert together in Austin, Texas, to hear Bill and Bonnie Hearn.  Bonnie was blind and needed assistance to the restroom during intermission; Dana and I helped her.  In our conversation over the sink, Bonnie asked, "And how do you two know each other?" 

"This is my math teacher," answered Dana in a voice where you could hear her smile. 

"What?" Bonnie looked confused. 

I didn't know how to answer other than to say, "Yes, she was in my Precalculus and Trigonometry class." This didn't seem confusing to me, but Bonnie just shook her head in disbelief.