On October 22, I took the Amtrak train from Boston’s South Station into New York’s Penn Station. Then I took the 15 hour journey from New York to Savannah, arriving the next day at 6:45 in the morning.
Jen Morgan, a dear friend of mine, picked me up at the train station, and I knew that the moment had come for me to travel the last little bit to my home on Whitemarsh Island. I had not been back since March of this year, and much strife and many troubles had taken over my family since I had left.
Don’t get me wrong, I am at as much fault as I believe my parents are, and even then I have a problem with the word fault. I believe we are just going through, say, growing pains, and in the end, well all be closer.
In any event, I’m leaving for Europe for three months in a week, and I wanted to see them before I left. I know they wanted to see me before I left, too. So Jen drove me a block away, and as I walked up the driveway, I think I may have nearly wet my pants, I was so nervous. Turns out, there was nothing to be nervous about.
The day was one I’ll never forget. We talked about the past couple of months, we went for a walk in Bonaventure Cemetery, we ate lunch with Olivia Hollinger, my new friend or epic proportions, at the Firefly Cafe, and we took a boat ride to Thunderbolt. The day culminated in a wonderful low country boil with fresh shrimp, corn on the cob, potatoes, and spicy sausage.
There are many things that my parents and I have to discuss and sort out. But in all reality, what family doesn’t have issues to talk about? My 24-hour visit to Savannah reminded me of one thing: I have two parents that I love very much, and two parents that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.