Travel around the world - lost to the world

A six-month journey around the world has, among many others, one very important aspect: It represents a unique opportunity to get lost to one's own little world for a long time - to leave behind everything that occupies one's daily life. When my mother had a stroke three weeks before my departure, I knew: my little world would go on the journey with me.

And it did: right after arriving in Georgia, for example, I got a local SIM card. I wanted to be reachable and be able to reach my mother as well. But the balance for international calls remained untouched. She never answered the phone once when I called. In India, I spent hours trying to recharge my local SIM card. Unsuccessfully, of course. So I hoped that at least the blog (which I had mainly created to alleviate my mother's worries) would reach her.

In truth, I didn't want to embark on the journey, but that wasn't practical. There's a small fortune invested in such a long journey, which is lost if you simply don't go. A small fortune that you can't afford to spend again in your lifetime. It wouldn't have been possible for us to make the world trip another time. An aporia.

My brother, who thankfully took care of the care and organization uncomplicatedly, kept me informed about the state of things. It was sometimes better, sometimes worse, but never good. Every time I opened the computer, I had a knot in my stomach. Last Monday, he explained to me via Skype what care arrangements he had organized. On Tuesday evening, I received the news that my mother had been moved to the palliative care unit. The cancer, which had been inconspicuous for a long time, had spread quickly as a result of the stroke.

24 hours later, I was sitting on the plane on my way to Vienna, hoping that I would still be able to see my mother alive. I was lucky to arrive just in time: in time because I arrived on the last day when she could still speak.

Yesterday morning, mom died. With aging, she had lost some of her lovely charm with which she could wrap her surroundings around her finger and effortlessly engage in conversation with complete strangers. She had probably lived alone for too long. Her emotional nature had developed a somewhat unpredictable life of its own. But she remained the kind-hearted person from whom I could have everything: the person in the world I could always rely on 100% and trust unconditionally.

I will miss the weekly visits, which always took place between 8 a.m. and 1 p.m., which is an unusual time for an old lady; as well as the multiple phone calls that always lasted at least 3/4 of an hour and provided me with all the gossip; the shared trips to Belgium and the glass of wine after the opera performances we attended together, where the three of us (with Roby) would dissect the performance.

Now it's time to actually get lost to my little world at home (the Seychelles, islands with unreal landscapes in nowhere, are a good starting point for that). That's why I won't fly to the funeral either. I was able to say goodbye when my mother still had something left - and I always tried to give her something back of what she had given me. It didn't always succeed to her full satisfaction, as I know - her demands were really damn high ;-)