My mother, 80 years old, spry and full of vigor, was on the courtesy cart driven by the red-shirted Amtrak employee. Before he could speed by me, I loudly exclaimed “you can let this one off right here.” My mother turned around and smiled big.

My mom hadn’t been up to see me here since my wedding five years ago. After Dad died, I pushed to make sure that she didn’t withdraw and still maintained her social network, and she flourished in many ways, reaching out to people and connecting. The pandemic brought connections through Skype and phone calls. But she didn’t travel, and I kept bugging her to come up and visit.

After much prayer and deliberation, she finally agreed to come up. Since the train goes right through town, I was able to avoid the hassle of the airport and get her a train ticket in sleeping car arrangements. Sure, it wasn’t as quick as the plane, but it was a lot more relaxing.

So, preparing for her visit was nerve wracking. Where do I hide the liquor? Do I bother hiding the cigars? What about my laundry, piled on one of the guest beds? Will she say something, or no? Is my house clean enough?

My mother, in her own special way, alleviated those fears. She told me that she was proud of me, that I had went off to college and never moved back in. That I got a degree and got a job without them worrying much about my work ethic or questionable choices. That I was able to navigate a personal life with people who are happy to be with me and around me.

Was I able to relax completely? No. There were still snide comments about the amount of liquor I have in my house, the humidor with cigars in it, and why frozen pizzas are in the freezer, but those were outweighed by how much fun we had just sitting around and talking. Her seeing me as an adult and not just her kid has rally improved our relationship.

All is well in parental relations. And it started with just buying a train ticket.