Why You Should Always Take The Trip

The woman lying in the hospice bed before me was a shadow of the former woman I knew.

A great woman.

My grandmother.

Parkinson's disease had robbed her of so many of her former abilities. I'd always known her as the organizer, the encourager, the cook, the hugger, the baker, and the traveler.

Ah, the Traveler.

It was my grandmother's stories of visiting Europe which planted the seeds into my thirteen-year-old mind the possibilities of my own adventures to the other side of the globe. When my grandmother visited Europe, it felt as if she'd accomplished the impossible, as if she'd single-handedly landed a seat on a rocket ship. Europe seemed too distant, so unreal, so other worldly to me; yet, my grandmother had shattered the invisible barrier of disbelief I had placed on our family. She had done the impossible. She became a world traveler.

When she returned, she told of the delicacies of France, the beauty of the art, the rain-kissed travertine streets, and the hospitable people of Spain and France. As the years turned into decades, she never missed an opportunity to share a new story with me about her travels abroad. And, always the eager listener, I would listen to her with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

On my last visit with her at hospice, I sat by her side and told her stories about the family. Her eyes would open and her lips would part into smiles. Parkinson's Disease is a brutal attacker of life and dignity. Being a witness to my grandmother's inability to get up and do as she pleased pierced the deepest parts of my heart. It literally ached for her.

"Grandma, I ran into your friend, Patty, today," I said. "She said to tell you hello."

My Grandmother's eyes opened wide with the mention of her friend's name. This particular friend, Patty, had taken my grandmother on many adventures. The friendship of two older women, traveling, laughing, and drinking wine, made me happy to think of my grandmother's last years were filled with such love and joy.

"Isn't Patty the friend you didn't go to Hawaii with?" I asked.

My Grandmother blinked her eyes slowly, her smile faded, and her head slowly nodded.

"Why didn't you go to Hawaii?" I asked.

My Grandmother stared straight up, as if her thoughts drifted to the ceiling. I figured she didn't hear me, so I left the matter alone. But, a few moments later, a grunting sound came from her fragile body.

She was trying to speak, a labor intensive action for her.

I leaned in close and said, "What are you trying to say?"

Then, with a fierceness I hadn't seen yet, she slowly said, "Always...take...the...trip."

"Always take the trip?" I asked. "Oh, you wish you'd gone to Hawaii?"

She again repeated," Always...take...the...trip...you."

Then I understood what she was telling me. Tears filled my eyes. It was her parting wisdom to me.

Always take the trip.

Four words filled with the wisdom of a dying woman. I understood exactly what she meant. She was telling me to never regret anything in this life. To take the trips I was invited on, not only to Europe or Hawaii, but on the daily trips I'm asked to take. Maybe a friend wants to go to coffee and a movie. Maybe my daughter wants to go shopping and eat at a cafe. Maybe my sister wants to have breakfast and laugh at old stories. My Grandmother's four words hit me as if I'd jumped into a cold lake in December--don't have any regrets.

So, I booked my trip to Italy and Paris. I had no fear, nor anxiety on my trip abroad. As I stood and looked up at the Eiffel Tower, I pictured my grandmother standing besides me. When I looked up at the Sistine Chapel, with tears in my eyes, I pictured her holding my hand smiling. And, when I walked into The Louvre, I pictured her by my side telling me to hurry up we had lots to see.

Her four words removed all fear from my life.

Have no regrets.

Always...Take...The...Trip.

-carol stuart