My parents drove me to the airport.

It was early in the morning, and still dark out. I’d taken the compost out to the pile in the back yard, and my boots were wet from the dew in the grass. My dad joked that the compost bin was going to be full to bursting when I got home.

I’d also stopped at Jewel’s grave and said a goodbye and an I love you.

I piled into the back of my dad’s bright red midlife-crisis SUV, with my backpack balanced on the seat beside me. Everything I was taking with me was inside that backpack. No way in hell was I letting it out of my sight for that entire journey.

My parents sat in the front seat. Dad was driving. The sky was getting lighter as we took the expressway north into the city. My stomach was fluttering and my hands shook a little. I was knitting. Tying off the last row of something large and blue that covered my lap, something that had started out as a sweater but hadn’t ended up as one. I hadn’t touched the thing in ages, but the night before I had realized I was ready. I had started it at around the same time that I had decided I wanted to go to Germany, and now, through a strange combination of events, I was going. It was time.

We stood at that gate for a long time, my mom and my dad and I. Three of us in a group hug, and we none of us was about to let go.

As we pulled away, my dad remembered something important. He pulled out his phone, opened his compass app, and turned to face the east. Then he grabbed my hand and centered himself for a moment.

We’re not a religious family, but my parents are both spiritual people. My mother, for example, focused her energy on creating a bubble of white light around the plane for the whole time it was in the air, and I know she was doing that without having to ask.

My dad only calls in the Grandfathers at times when he believes we need them, and this was one of those times.

He turns to face each of the directions in turn, and summons them. It’s a simple prayer, with a different meaning and imagery and kind of support associated with each direction.

“Grandfathers of the east, the direction of new beginnings…” he began, and he asked them to be with me and support me on my journey.

I will never remember all of the words.

“…the animal of this direction of the song sparrow, singing in the new day,” he concluded, and his voice broke just a little. We both started to cry. And then we faced the south, and asked for strength. The west for intelligence. The north for wisdom. And so on.

Until it was over, and it was time. I pulled away because if I didn’t do it then I wasn’t going to be able to. And I made it through security. There was almost no line.

I waved goodbye to them, through the glass. I was crying. They were crying. You are crying. We are all crying. And that was okay.

And I then I turned away, Germany bound.