The Atlanta skyline, from the MARTA train, March 21.

Last Thursday I did something I hadn’t done in nine years:  I flew to Atlanta, alone, to visit my parents.  Ever since my daughter was born, she has been my constant travel companion.  Even as a baby she was good company when we flew together. The joy she found in the adventure of airplane travel almost made up for the difficulties of managing the clumsy baby seat and all the various gear she required.  As she got older she became a great help, as she has a natural bent for understanding automatic ticketing machines. With her assistance, I learned to buy and reload a MARTA Breeze card and to make my way through the stations.  It felt strange to be leaving town without her.

The last time I went to Atlanta by myself, Mama had been very sick.  This time, it was Daddy.  In February he underwent a serious surgery that left him in a fragile state.  Typically healthy, hearty and appearing far younger than his years, time was making sudden and unwelcome inroads.  Fortunately, Mama was feeling pretty well.  Her usual chronic health concerns were manageable, and Daddy’s illness spurred her into action.  She had recently had cataract surgery, which improved her vision and gave her confidence to drive again (although only to familiar, nearby places–she wasn’t about to attempt I-85).  It had been over twenty years since she had regularly set foot in a grocery store, because Daddy had done nearly all the shopping and errand-running.

My parents are blessed to have a strong caring network of neighbors and church friends, so my immediate presence hadn’t been an absolute requirement.  I can’t say how grateful I am to the many who step in so graciously to help.  While I offered to fly down at any time, I sensed that Mama preferred I wait until Daddy was feeling better and regaining some of his lost weight. That way he could better enjoy my visit, and I wouldn’t be as alarmed at his appearance.

Another view from the train, showing the gold dome of the Capitol between the twin “Sloppy” Floyd Towers.  The cream-colored tower to the left is City Hall, which dates from 1930.

I tend to think my family in Virginia can’t get through the mornings without me.  Who will make sure our daughter is really, truly awake and up in the pre-dawn darkness?  Who’ll make her breakfast and lunch?  Who’ll walk Kiko?  I knew they’d be fine in the evenings.  While there would be no cooking, they’d have no trouble eating.  My husband would bring home Chipotle, Chinese or Thai.  They’re capable of opening cans, jars, and boiling pasta.  Those mornings, though, they’d be rough.  Then it hit me.  So what if the mornings are rough? That just means they’ll appreciate me all the more once I return.

So I went, and I’m glad I did.  I’ll go back, too, with more frequency.  As those of us of a certain age already know or are coming to realize (at least those lucky enough to have our parents still with us), sometimes the duties and rewards of daughterhood take priority over those of motherhood.

The back of the High Museum of Art, much expanded since I worked there in the 80s.

    The High Museum with the Promenade building in the background.

The Four Seasons Hotel, as seen from the Arts Center Station.

I was very glad not to see any snow.  While the weather was cooler than I had hoped, it was sunny, and there were real signs of spring, such as this dandelion in the mulch.  There are no dandelions yet in northern Virginia.