Promises, promises

My cousin Maureen rode in the passenger seat as I drove 1,600 miles from Reno to Des Moines.

We never turned the radio on. We never listed to an iPod. We never sought a Wi-Fi connection.

Instead we talked. And talked. And talked.

We talked as we drove past silver mines and casinos of norhern Nevada. We talked as we passed the Mormon Tabernacle and the Olympic ski jumps of Utah. We talked as we passed Little America, Wyo., and its hotel-restaurant-gift shop-truck stop, a home of 50-cent ice cream cones and "17 marble showers." We talked as we negotiated the near white-out conditions just west of Laramie. We talked as we passed the towering wind turbines across three states. We talked as we passed the state capitol buildings in Salt Lake City, Cheyenne, Lincoln and finally Des Moines.

We talked of life, of tragedy, of dreams; of children, of dads, of uncles, of siblings, of grandparents; of reaching out, of holding back; of staying connected, of staying disconnected.

Maureen and I listened and learned. Maureen and I laughed and smiled. Maureen and I cried and ached.

We spoke to each other more in 53 hours than we had in my 53 years. There couldn't have been more than 30 minutes of silence, except for the hours of sleep. And when we reached Des Moines, though we both had early, early flights the next morning, we stayed up too late because there was still more to share.

As we said good-bye at the airport, both of us bleary-eyed, facing multiple flight connections and a few hours of work upon arrival at our homes, we promised it won't be 15 years until the next visit. We promised it won't take another tragedy to bring us together. We promised to stay connected. We proposed visiting our uncle in Chicago or Maureen's daughter in Missouri or putting together a family reunion in Massachusetts.

In the air, as planes jetted us a continent apart again, I thought of all the duties of daily life which we so often use to not only sabotage plans to reunite, but to skip simple weekly phone calls.

 

I thought of 140-character posts and every-two-hour place check-ins, valuable in their own right, but not the grounds for deeper friendships that buoy us in times of grief, stress or celebration.

I thought of past promises to other friends to stay connected, promises not kept for one reason or another ... or for no reason at all.

 

I hope Maureen and I keep our promise.