Passport

Preparing for the trip I just took to Greece and Turkey reminded me that I'll need to renew my passport in a couple of years.  The last time I did that was in 2006, soon after my husband was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. I don't remember a thing about that last renewal. We had no plans for any trips abroad. Our routes were etched between home and hospital, home and doctors' offices. My solo journeys were from home to work and back again.

I had abandoned my own concerns to concentrate on those of my family. Besides Al's illness, I was in charge, long-distance, of my mother's care. It surprises me to think I even noticed that my passport was about to expire. I always kept it in the same place--in the top right-hand drawer of my desk. That's where I keep the things I need to grab quickly. A stapler and remover, scissors, stamps, envelopes. Somehow my passport fits there, even though I've never grabbed it, thrown some things into a carry-on, and hopped a flight to some exotic place at the last minute.

That's the thing about a passport. It holds a place in the imagination for fantasy. It promises the simple pursuits of curiosity and enthusiasm. A safe passage and a safe return. In a word, hope.

Did I have hope then? I lived with my fingers crossed, not quite the same thing. I didn't expect much for my mother. Her dementia was claiming her, little by little. It was too strong for her to fight. But Al was a gifted fighter. Through his intellect and physical strength, I hoped against hope that he would win.

Maybe he reminded me to renew my passport. That seems likely. Before he got too ill, he looked out for me while I looked out for him.

My picture startles me when I open the cover. There is no vanity, no smile. My mouth is open, as if I am gasping. As if I had paused for an instant while running a race. I stare straight ahead, but not at the camera or whoever was behind it. I am staring at nothing or nothingness. It was not good back then for me to pause. I needed to keep moving.

I didn't use that passport for several years. It stayed in my desk drawer until 2009. Since then I've carried it to Israel, France, Ecuador, Turkey, and Greece. It's only when I open its navy blue cover that I see who and what I once had no time to consider.

Every now and then, it isn't a bad thing to come face to face with the wounds that we believe have receded into the past. It reminds us of our strength under pressure and our ability to endure. It helps us appreciate the good in our present. And it gives us the opportunity to cherish our loved ones who have passed.

In a year or so, it will be time to take a new picture to stick on my renewal. So it goes. The story of a life.