So I get on a plane.
My grandmother has terminal cancer and I’ve booked a transatlantic flight at the last minute to say goodbye to her.
The days before my flight have been pretty hectic. I had to cancel plans, arrange child care, finish the first draft of a novel due the day after I left, and then ring my agent and editor to explain to them why the final draft is going to be late. I packed at around midnight, later discovering I’ve only brought two tops for five days. I’ve little brain left, haven’t slept, have backache.
One moment sticks in my mind: About an hour before I leave for the airport, I’m going downstairs to the bathroom. My little boy stands at the stairgate and doesn’t want me to leave him upstairs for five minutes. He clings to my jeans and says, properly for the first time, “Mama.”
I cry for the entire flight over because I miss my son so much. Even through all of Sweeney Todd, which is surprising because normally, musical films about serial killers who lead others into cannibalism make me quite cheerful.
So: not an easy journey over to the US. And not an easy visit, either. But one moment, I will never forget. It’s a sunny, hot day and my grandmother is sitting in her wheelchair in the shade of a tree. We are all drinking iced tea. She has her hand in mine; her other hand is held by my cousin, her second granddaughter, whom I’ve not seen in years.
“I’m so happy to be here with you girls,” she says.
Getting on the flight home, I’m blinking from lack of sleep, surfeit of emotion, and way too much knowledge about how a bedpan is used. It’s an overnight flight, landing in London at 7.00 am, and I won’t sleep because I never do. I’m sorry to leave my family behind, and I want to hold my son so much that my arms ache.
Then someone slides into the seat beside me. He’s wearing jeans, a sports coat and round glasses, and he looks so, so much like how I imagined the hero of my last Harlequin Presents book, the one who moonlights as a male model but is really a computer geek.
“Are you going to London for business or pleasure?” I ask him, because if you’re going to sit next to your own hero come to life for seven hours, you’ve got to talk with him, haven’t you?
“Business,” he says. “I’m researching investors for the software package I’ve designed.”
A computer geek.
Even during heartache, there are moments of wonder, of joy, of serendipity and sudden suppressed giggles.
Have you had one lately?
My husband rushing home from a long, long day’s flight (he’s a pilot) to be with me because I have a horrible head-cold. He brings me Nyquil, juice, and gets up with the children throughout the night so I can sleep. Now, that’s I hero! 
by Kimber An May 13th, 2008 at 9:33 amHugs! Big, big hugs!
Moments are what makes life worth living.
Collections of little moments all strung together.
BTW… computer geeks are HOT!
by Kimber Chin May 13th, 2008 at 9:46 am(The hubby is one)
And when they talk code,
oh, baby!
What a beautiful post. Thanks.
by Jill Sorenson May 13th, 2008 at 10:00 am(((Julie)))
Thank you for sharing these sweet moments with us.
by azteclady May 13th, 2008 at 10:48 amI don’t have a “hero” moment to share, but wanted to say your post was beautiful. Touching and, like life, never simple.
by Lise Horton May 13th, 2008 at 12:38 pmThat was a beautiful post. I am so sorry that your grandmother is dying. Glad you made it home safe.
by Angel May 13th, 2008 at 1:18 pmI appreciate the hugs, thank you very much.
I think so much of being a writer is finding those moments and capturing them, don’t you?
Hooray for your husband, Kimber An.
And yes, Kimber Chin, geeks are HOT!!
by Julie Cohen May 13th, 2008 at 4:08 pmHugs Julie. I was able to talk to my grandfather one last time on the phone the day before he died. He was never one to answer the phone, so it was even more special to have that last talk.
by Liza May 13th, 2008 at 6:57 pmThoughts and prayers are with you. Thanks for sharing.
by Kwana May 13th, 2008 at 7:19 pmWhat a refreshing, real, lovely post, despite what you’re going through. My condolences, and I hope your sadness will turn to fond memories in time.
I write this as I’m about to go visit Mom again this weekend, who is in a nursing home, believing wrongly that her mother is still alive.
My hero is my husband, who does the six-hour round trip with me every weekend, without complaint. The last time we were down, he spent an hour telling my mom corny jokes. I think I fell in love with him all over again. We sat under a flowering tree in the courtyard. In a childlike impulse, I shook the tree so it would rain blossoms on my mom.
These are the moments that get into books (however well disguised) and make them real.
by ciar cullen May 13th, 2008 at 7:31 pmThank you Julie for sharing this special post with us. I love these kind of moments…they remind me of my favorite saying…
Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away
Had a moment like this myself just a few days ago when the author copies of my first release arrived. I let the box sit on the dining room table for a full thirty minutes before I opened it…letting this only-happens-once moment build…until my teenager brought me a steak knife and said, “I want to share this with you.”
I was teary-eyed before I even got through the first layer of tape.
by Christyne Butler May 13th, 2008 at 10:07 pmThx for sharing, nice post
by virtualler May 14th, 2008 at 8:17 amThank you, Liza. I’m glad your grandfather answered the phone.
Ciar, what a beautiful moment. Those flower petals and your husband. You brought a tear to my eye; thank you.
Christyne, that is precisely the way to react to such a moment: make it last. And I would love to meet your daughter. How insightful she can be.
Thank you Kwana and virtualler.
by Julie Cohen May 14th, 2008 at 7:06 pm