Dear Nonie, one last letter on love and traveling every day

Dear Nonie,

It’s been a year since you sent me that email, and I’ve yet to respond. As the old saying goes, better late than never.

I’m not sure how Lillian is, but I have no doubt she’s holding her own and showering her wisdom on all she meets. Even through that whole hospital ordeal, I never actually got my appendix taken out. They put me on antibiotics and told me to take it easy for the next 4 weeks. If you ask me, I can think of worst places to be instructed to take it easy.

I was released from the hospital just in time for Molly’s visit.  I made sure to follow the doctors strict orders. We camped in Booderee National Park on the edge of an isolated beach amongst a family of kangaroos and went on a Jervis Bay cruise where wild dolphins danced alongside our boat.

Then, my mom and dad flew in and we road-tripped on the Great Ocean Road alongside breathtaking beach views, and continued on to Phillip Island where, at sunset, we witnessed thousands of penguins waddle from the ocean to the the beach for a nights rest in their burrows.

The more I travel, the more I understand why you backpacked 40 plus countries. From your animated stories of Istanbul, Machu Picchu and elsewhere, I’m convinced that adventuring lights up your soul in a similar way it does for me.

After our Australian adventures, my dad flew home, but my mom and I trekked on to conquer a slice of New Zealand.

We flew into Queenstown and were immediately immersed in the country’s unique flare; vast snow-capped mountain ranges, rolling green hills, brilliant blue waters; a combination of California and Oregon on all-natural, grass-fed steroids. The kind of images that look photoshopped in National Geographic magazines. To this day, it’s one of my favorite places I’ve ever visited. It’s also hands down one of the worst.

On our last day in Queenstown, my mom and I planned to bike around Lake Wakatipu.  The sun rises there around 4am and sets after 11pm, optimal for anyone who likes to carpe diem.

We woke up early and headed to a travel information shop to inquire about bike rentals. The window was plastered with “free-wifi” signs. Free wifi was difficult to come by and I was excited to check-in with people back at home. We entered and connected to the internet. My mom’s phone lit up with a message from my dad and Gary telling her to give them a call as soon as she could. She dialed my dad.

And that’s when I sensed something was wrong.

You know my mom, I swear she’s made of more stone than the Great Wall of China.  She doesn’t shed a tear easily. I asked her what happened. With her hands buried in her face, she muttered your name.

What?

Why?

How?

I didn’t understand it. I didn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense.

You were the one taking care of Allan. You just sent me that email. You just placed an order to send me another batch of your friend’s delectable slow-roasted hazelnuts. We were supposed to plan our cruise trip together.

I didn’t get to respond to your letter.

Big events, often tragedies, jolt us from our mundane routines and force us to focus on what’s important in life. Why does it take such catastrophic events to gain perspective?

I recently read the book Tuesdays with Morrie, about a 70 year-old professor diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s Disease. His body was slowly deteriorating. Death was inevitable,  yet he had the most positive outlook on life. Every Tuesday, his past college student would visit and ask Morrie questions regarding life. The student asked Morrie if he was worried about death and being remembered.

Morrie answered, “no, love is how you live on.”

I certainly felt your love when you were physically here, but now, I feel it in an indescribably more powerful way.

One reason I think your love is engrained in me and countless others, is because of your endless travels. With traveling, the purpose is to explore the territory, the culture, and the people. Each morning, you wake up with a curiosity and excitement to see things you’ve never seen before. When you meet people on the journey you tend to open up faster because it’s uncertain if you’ll ever reacquaint.

With each new expedition, you understand that the world is full of more beautiful things and people than we are physically capable of experiencing. It’s eye-opening and humbling, and spurs self-discovery.

When the trip is over, we arrive home in the wee hours,  jet-lagged, often dreading going “back to reality.” But you, instead, would wake up the next day as if the vacation hadn’t ended; with that same sense of wonder and keen awareness of all around you.

At your trip to the grocery store, you would treat the butcher like she was the Queen of England. When you would come to my youth soccer games, it was as if you were watching a Barcelona vs Real Madrid Champions League final. When you walked into Anthropologie, you would touch the embroidered jackets as if they were handwoven delicacies from India.

Every day was a travel day for you.

You lived fearlessly, sincerely absorbing each person and moment to their fullest capacity.

And because of this, as Morrie responded, your love lives on.

It shouldn’t take a car accident, a terrorist attack, or an unexpected illness to gain perspective.  And I know I don’t have to be in Zimbabwe or Croatia or Lagos to appreciate the moment.

Every day should be a travel day. I should expect to witness miraculous things and meet life-changing people. As you’ve shown me, if you allow yourself to be open-minded and astutely present, you will appreciate life’s simple, yet profound, pleasures.

Even though a whole year has already passed, I still hear your cheerful “how is my favorite person in the whole wide world?” during our weekly phone calls and your infectious laughter at family gatherings. Sadness still comes in waves, but it’s always blanketed in an irreplaceable warmth: your fearless love.

I miss you every day but I promise that no matter where I am or what I am doing, I travel with you.

Love you always,

Kendall