the last day

The last day always sneaks up. After nearly eight weeks of moving and grooving, it feels impossible that this chapter is already closing.

Last night, I caught myself just watching my kids—really watching them. Ordering dinner with confidence, chatting with the waiter, slipping away to explore and returning with stories. They’ve grown into themselves in ways I didn’t anticipate: speaking more clearly, sharing emotions with honesty, loving bigger and harder than they already did. They’ve cared for one another, checked in on each other’s feelings, and even checked in on mine.

This journey has been more than my mind could envision—and I’m pretty good at the envisioning parts. It’s been a blessing of Spirit—woven through every day. I can feel it in my heart, in my body, in my cells. Something inside me has shifted. I’m leaving pieces of the old behind, and stepping into something new. This time, not waiting for anyone to join me, but moving forward with my children—our little trio (+1; Dad when he can)—finding our own way.

Speaking of Dad—Joe and I have found a rhythm too. Not perfect, but real. We even had one rip-roaring night of… let’s call it learning. And even that feels like part of the gift. Because maybe that’s what this journey has been about—discovering what’s possible when you step outside the comfort of your four walls and choose to seek knowledge, together.

With all my best-laid plans, I thought I’d keep up with sharing every step as it happened. But what I discovered is that stepping away from “projects for others” gave me something better: the connection I’ve been searching for. I’ll circle back and tell the stories of the days and weeks once we’re home, but for now, I’m grateful for what unfolded when I let myself be fully present.

I can’t fully define what this trip has done for us. For me. But I know this: we are not the same people we were when we boarded that first flight. And that’s the beauty of the last day.

It’s not really an ending.
It’s a beginning.