I dreamt of us leaving last night. We were getting in the car as dawn broke. Mum was there crying alongside a few blurred faces. Dad and I got into the car and I looked over my shoulder and squinted at everyone waving as we started driving off . I remember looking across at Dad and I woke up as he turned to me with a huge grin and said “Here we go…!â€.
This trip has been like a tumour in Dad’s head for years. Benign, but there. The last few years it has started growing and in the last six months it has been impossible to ignore. It has consumed him. His spare time has consisted of applying for visa after visa, combing through traveller information websites, waiting on hold to the Darwin shipping company and trawling eBay.com for useless gadgets that will never come in handy. At times Dad’s meticulous preparation has been painful. At times it has been exciting. He’s impressed me with his folder organisation and time management. He’s worn me out with the logistical complexity of it all. He’s itching to get on that road and go.
When next Sunday comes I know it will be exactly like the dream. The surreal feeling of the millions of moments spent day-dreaming finally becoming real. And when we do set off in the car I know, just like in the dream, that Dad’s face will be lit up with excitement, and so will mine.