I'm hoping that by the time my brother might read this, what I'm about to write will be one of those stories you tell and not still an uncomfortable memory.
My younger bro and his wonderful girlfriend are currently flying over the Atlantic Ocean and will land in London, hopefully around 4:30am our time. They came into Milwaukee yesterday and spent the night with me until I brought them to O'Hare this afternoon.
It was wonderful to see them before their adventure...but, both became extremely sick in the night. Not only did they have no food in their stomachs, not only were they unsure about how much they could keep down, but they also had very little sleep. And, then their plane sat on the runway for an hour and a half prior to take off.
Yes, they will survive. Yes, they're heading first to London for about a week and a friend's home from college - so they'll not only know the language, but at least will know a friendly face. But (and now it becomes about me...), I've got this pit in my stomach.
Last night and this morning I've just wanted to make it all better - to make it more comfortable for them. I wanted to give them the time to sleep it off, to not be anxious about an 8 hour plane ride, to take away the upset stomach. I couldn't do any of it. I couldn't fix a thing. I hate that.
I'm praying for D. and B. tonight - that they might be able to rest on the plane. That they might be able to keep some food down (and the food will taste alright). That they are safe and comfortable. That they'll find their way to the place they are staying easily. That their entire trip is much better than this beginning.
I guess, prayer is about all I can do.
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