The Road Home

The day we packed up and left Washington, it didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like a free fall.

I loaded the kids into the car — their whole little lives boxed up and wedged between booster seats and bags — and told them we were going on an adventure. That’s what I’d always called it when life cracked open in some unfixable way: an adventure. Kids don’t need the weight of grown-up truth. They need magic. They need motion. They need the sense that life can still be fun even when the adults are quietly falling apart.

So we made it a road trip. Big happy-happy, fun-fun energy from the front seat while my insides spun like a dryer on the highest setting.

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