Travel plans revive my mom's concern for her little girl

(Preface - I wrote this blog post unaware it is my 100th until My Favourite Editor informed me of the fact. Thank you to everyone who’s been with me on my journey so far. It’s a pleasure connecting with you. Much love.)

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I have no words that will ease the anxiety in my Mom’s heart, in her mind. I’m her daughter and, no matter how old I am, I will always be her little girl.

The thought of me taking another step forward as a widow — by travelling solo — gives her unease, especially about my safety.

It’s not easy navigating the world as a woman.

I know this and I wish I could curb my wanderlust, my desire to see and explore. I wish I could be content at home or near home or at least in destinations that have familiar culture and languages. I can be happy travelling there but I also need more.

Mom and I had a discussion about this today. She can hardly put her foot down and forbid me from travelling, mostly because I’m 58 and financially independent. But she can tell me her thoughts and concerns. She can tell me her view of the world is one where there’s a lot of uncertainty, much angst and hurt, much anger and backlash. She can speak her heart and tell me that no matter how much society has progressed, she still feels like it’s a male-dominated world, one in which women are sometimes seen as second-class, disposable and less valued, especially in some cultures.

She tells me she loves me, she’s proud of me and wants only for me to be safe and live a long, healthy, happy life. But she’s scared for me.

And here is where words fail me. I hear everything she says and I agree with much it. But I remind her I was widowed at 56 and I’m hopeful the long, healthy, happy life she desires for me is a reality. But that makes me too young to not explore, too young not to travel.   

In an ideal world My Favourite Husband would still be alive and on these adventures with me. But he’s not. And the friends and family who might make good travel companions are not available due to lack of time, finances and interest. I remind her she used to be my favourite travel companion and, if she expressed an interest in going somewhere with me again, I would change my plans in a heartbeat. She does not.

Age and health have left her with a desire to nest at home. The busyness of airports and navigating foreign lands and languages hold no appeal for her. 

I gently remind her bad things happen in our city and that home isn’t the guarantee of safety that it once was. She listens and agrees and then launches into news reports about local events — arsons, thefts, murders. 

And then I speak the words that she doesn’t want to hear but knows are true, something we both believe. “Mom, if it’s my time, then it’s my time."

No matter when or where I die, when I do, it’s because it was the time the last line of my story was meant to be written.

I concluded our conversation by giving her the only assurances I could: once my plans are finalized, I will give her all the details, a full itinerary. I will also register with Canadian Foreign Affairs in the countries I visit. And I promise to do my best to be as safe as I possibly can be.

I love you, Mom.