No Longer the Same. But Together Again.

It was too much.

They had talked about it together, planned it, and stopping even for a short while at home in Istanbul made her happy. Theoretical, but in the end, not practical.

She could not sleep on the initial flight over. When reaching out her hand to grasp his in sleep, he wasn’t there. “This is what it will feel like,” she thought to herself, “when he’s gone, and you really are alone.”

Off the plane in Istanbul, she was met with the familiar welcome home in Turkish. A very long walk across the ridiculously large airport, then a two-hour train ride with hundreds of men, all dressed in black, tired at six in the morning as they headed to work. But she was home.

She needed the grounding.

For her, finally at the apartment, there was a quick shower, and sleep in a familiar and blessedly comfortable bed. She woke to the slow sounds of the ezan as he called to prayer, the squawk of the gulls, and an easygoing vendor's call on the street.

And she woke to the loneliness. Glued with him together for weeks on the boat, she had already forgotten what loneliness felt like, and his reminder that she needed to be comfortable without him in Istanbul only made the pain worse.

She sucked it in and got herself organized. There was a second flight.

Two more hours on a train. Three more in the air and a late landing at an unfamiliar airport made her wary. It smelled strange, and the voices around her exhausted ears were not Turkish, not warm and comfortable, but quick, precise, and demanding. Almost irritating. Stressed, and for the first time in decades, she was not only alone, she was afraid. The loudspeaker at the airport continued to remind all passengers that the airport would close in twenty minutes.

Frantic, she went from terminal to terminal, but the planned transport to the hotel was not at the designated location. There were no buses, no taxis waiting in a queue. Only a single driver, who offered her a last-minute rate, which only made her angrier at the scam. She found no comfort upon arriving at the hotel, especially when the alleged transport turned out to be a mirage.

She was no longer afraid. Even if she’d had to walk for an hour, she would have been fine, she reminded herself. But in the hotel room, the reality hit her. She was still alone. Still without him. Still without herself. Then sunlight appeared, even at almost midnight. Her daughter stepped into the lobby and, with laughter, gave her the obligatory two kisses on the cheek, and life settled once again. They would be together in Paris for a week, just the two of them as flâneuses, in spring.

She never would have thought forty years ago that she would feel this way about her family. Hugely independent, outspoken, and opinionated, she has always relied on herself. Just herself. She never expected to have a family, much less to love them with a desperation she thought impossible.

Until now. Now she relies on them.

They have grown not just with age but also in wisdom, caring, love, and even understanding at different times. The woman she was at twenty-nine, that courageous woman who laughed her way through law, uncaring of the judge’s threats and opposing counsel’s scowls, is no longer. She has been pummelled, scolded, and cheated by her alleged comrades in arms, forcing her to fight her way through life.

Until she won. But she was not alone during the fight.

They did it together. Sometimes much harder than alone, other times easier, but together as a team nevertheless. The teamwork kept them together. Kept them going even when it was hard, when they hurt each other, when they both just wanted to quit. And then, the work was over.

Then together, yet apart. Living together, but separate. Miserable. Alone. Lonely. And afraid. Again, the fear.

When she stepped off the plane in Paris, it was that overwhelming loneliness, but mostly the fear. There was no longer the flooding of freedom when taking that first step into the departing airport. No longer was there curiosity about new things, new people, and new places. There was only longing. Harsh, cold, depressive longing to be wherever he is. To stop the messages and the calls, and to have him in her arms, to hold him, wake up with him, and talk through the night.

Yet she was in Paris for a reason, even though she wasn’t quite certain of her intent.

She has become someone she doesn’t recognize. There is no longer the obstinate strength, the massive desire for something—or everything—new. Her body is the same. Some wrinkles and pain, but the same. Yet different. It feels lighter and stronger. Only because the family is there to support her, to help and lift her up. She no longer lives in the future; she lives only for today—each day, sometimes for minutes at a time. She thought she had no future to live. The plodding on through life without him, living with a man who loved her no longer. So she thought.

She’d been given a new life, a reset, if you will. And the first step into that new life, that new thought process, was in Paris.

And then things began to come together. Small things became fascinating. The sound of church bells, the rush of birds as they took flight, or the laugh of a child across the street on the merry-go-round. The control slowly slipped from her, and she was suddenly comfortable with others leading, guiding, and suggesting.

Yet every morning as she walks the streets of Paris to the place where she will write, she still searches. Who is this woman? What does she want? What does she expect from this “around the world to find your elbow” trip?

Nothing. She expects absolutely nothing from this city that she doesn’t already have. Open for the interesting, the artistic, the fantastic, and maybe even the bizarre, she will watch and wait. 

But a city cannot fulfill something inside her, even one as charming as Paris. She does not know who she is now or what she will become. It no longer matters. Those questions are merely entertainment.

She has them. Her family, and especially him. They have each other. Again.