My eyes flew open at 3:45am. I glinted out the window, then grabbed my glasses. A blue neon light read, "Amtrak Cleveland." Where one of our daughters lives. I snapped a photo and pulled the blanket back over me and let the train rock me back to sleep. 

Cleveland station 3:45AM

I woke back up around 6:30. The cafe car was open, so I stumbled in and asked for two coffees to go. I laughed with a couple telling them I'm not really supposed to speak to anyone before I have my coffee. I headed back to my room and took in the caffeine, one delicious sip at a time. I love my morning solo coffee, usually enjoyed curled up in a chair, listening to the birds. I can't hear the birds in the train car, but I could watch the soft, slow sunrise unfold. 

Sunrise in Swanton, Ohio

It will take me a very long time to process the generosity of the Wish of a Lifetime, AARP NY crew, and Amtrak that welcomed me and my mom into their hearts. Of course, Joyce stole the show, but what did I expect with those “Bette Davis,” “Mary Astor” eyes.

I was greeted by a dozen or so volunteers wearing bright red AARP shirts. Smiles and hugs all around.

They all knew my story. Knew my mom’s story. 

And I got to know some of theirs. I could have spent the entire trip listening to their stories. 

The energy was warm and infectious. When we crowded in front of someone waiting for their train to take a group phot, they joined in the fun. I’m pretty sure he’ll be recruited to become a volunteer. 
​
Thank you to Wei from Amtrak, who exuded so much pride in the newly renovated Patrick Moynihan Hall. It is a work of art and I loved all the details you shared with me, from the unique pieces of glass imported from Switzerland, to the connection to the old postal station that would send mail by train. Your pride is shared with everyone who passes through those stations. 

It’s funny. I came to New York City in 1987 seeking my place in American Theater. My younger self is glowing that today, I was treated like a movie star, royalty, a person going on a very important journey. Onlookers watched and couldn’t help but smile. Who can resist red and white shimmery pompoms? Or signs wishing me all the best on my journey?

The main hall at Moynihan Station was filled with smiles. 

But none bigger than mine. To have my mom’s story, and now mine, held with so much love and support by formerly complete strangers fills me with so much hope. Prior to this afternoon, I had never met any of my travel angels. And chances are, I probably might not meet them again, but our brief encounter had big reverberations. And that is kind of the point of this trip. 

We pass in and out of so many lives. As kindred passengers on a train. Or people touched by my mom’s young journey across this country. Or mine, her daughter, taking this trip to honor her life and to celebrate mine. 

What matters is that we notice how we can touch one another and what a difference it makes in ways we can never express. 

I’m rolling through the gentle green foliage of the Hudson Valley that is soon going to be filled with red, gold, and  and orange. I see traces of it hiding in the branches. White egrets standing among tufts of tall reeds. Pampas grass among the old trees and ferns. The train is rolling slowly to Chicago. 

The Amtrak staff on the Lake Shore Limited is relaxed and kind. More strangers who are making a difference on this trip. 

My gratitude to everyone involved in supporting this journey is truly endless. My family, who is celebrating back home and abroad. Friends who sent me tea and a new journal to help me document the trip. My grad school friends, who when I told them about this adventure, screamed in unison at a restaurant, "You're wish was granted!"

​And a dozen or so kind souls who sent me off in style and with love. 

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

At a little after 8am this morning, I hugged and kissed Jack goodbye in front of the Southwest drop off at Denver International Airport. I hoisted my overstuffed backpack onto my shoulders, feeling a little like I did when I was 18 years old and left home in Southern California for Evanston, Illinois., having never been there before. Or when I was 27 years old and took People's Airline (who remembers that??) one way to NYC.

Both were leaps of faith, like I hope this trip will be. 

Truthfully, I didn't think today was going to happen. The weather up and down the North East coast was foreboding. My flight out of Denver was delayed 45 minutes, then one hour, then two plus.  

Normally, something like flying into a huge storm, or the possibility of my trip of a lifetime being delayed or even canceled, would send me into anxiety. Ask my family. They know, all too well, that I'm not the most relaxed traveler. I stress over each detail, worry about being too early, or running behind.  I worry about it all.

But today, perhaps because I was on my own, in my own time and space, or maybe my mom whispering in my ear to relax, I stayed calm.  I hung out at the gate, people watched, and trusted that it was all going to be all right. 

And it was. We boarded and left Denver at 12:35PM. Landed in NYC sometime after 6:15PM. I gave myself lots of time to find baggage claim and the ride share area. Within 15 minutes, my Lyft driver drove quietly away from La Guardia Airport.  

This was truly happening. 

I looked out the window, the skyline obscured by the rain. A skyline I used to know really well after living here for close to ten years. A skyline that used to fill me with a thrill I'd never felt toward a place before.

When Jack and I first moved here as a young artists - me an actress, him a poet -  we'd walk and talk for hours up and down and all across the city streets. As we walked, Jack used to ask me, "Trank (we're on a last name basis - another story), do you love New York?"

For most of those years, the answer was a resounding, YES. I truly, deeply, madly loved New York. I consider it to be one of the great loves of my life. 

Tonight, I felt a twang of sadness as I searched the skyline for familiar forms kissing the misty sky.  The New York of my late 20s and early 30s is part of not only my distant past, but the city's as well. Every time I visit, I feel less and less of a connection to that bold, brave young woman who moved here to pursue her dream and to the city that made her feel she could conquer the world. 

It had been a long day. The hours of delay, the nervous emotion of embarking on this journey, the uncertainty of the weather. I checked into my hotel room, the bed luring me into thinking I would order food in, feeling weary. I was ready to climb under the covers and call it a night.

Then I opened the curtains. 

The thrill was back.

Really,  a view of the fog enshrined Empire State Building? The only thing missing was King Kong and Faye Wray. 

​I put on my shoes and headed out. My feet landed in a familiar cadence, the cadence of walking in a place that couldn't care less that it's been more than 30 years since I called this city my home. Didn't care that I traded city streets for mountain trails. New York, in it's gruff way, is always ready to welcome me back, even if it's only for one day. 

I turned the corner of W. 37th onto 6th Avenue. I walked into a taco place and was welcomed like I belonged here. I think the manager even said, "nice to see you again." 

On the way back to the hotel, food in hand, I felt the tug of a familiar question. I swear I could hear Jack ask, as if he was right by my side, "Trank, do you love New York?"

Yes, Greene. I still do.