Healing on the Rails

There’s so much to unpack here, but I finally feel I’m in a better place—and time—to do a little journaling.

My mom and I left Chicago on Tuesday afternoon, heading south on a 54-hour train ride to take her back home. Flying wasn’t an option because of her recent health issues, so Amtrak it was.

I’ve traveled on Amtrak many times—so many that I’ve lost count—and I’ve always loved every ride. This time, though… not so much. It’s finally getting better, but it’s been rough!

I’ll probably share some of that experience later, but for now I want to focus on the good—the reflective moments of the trip—starting with my mom’s incredible outlook on life. Boy, oh boy, is she the most inspiring human being. She continues to amaze me with the way she faces challenges. Her physical limitations are real, but nothing stops her from being grateful for all that she has and experiences. She wakes up giving thanks, adjusts to whatever the day throws at her (and the day does throw a lot), and goes to sleep still giving thanks.

It’s such an honor to be her daughter and to walk through life beside her.

When we left Union Station, the train was short-staffed, and the dining car wasn’t operating (part of the Amtrak experience I might write about later). So, all our freezer meals had to be eaten in our room on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Then, around midnight, a few train cars were disconnected, a few others were attached, and with that came a new crew—and a fully operating dining car! The sun came out this morning, and so did my hope. I could finally have breakfast in the dining room and spend time in the observation car. I do love Amtrak… when it’s running at full strength.

As I sat enjoying breakfast and the beautiful mountain views, two women—probably in their late seventies or early eighties—were seated at the next table. We exchanged a few words; they were lovely. They chatted about their travels and the adventures they’d shared. One had traveled the world but admitted that Egypt remained on her list because it required more mobility than she had. The other had just returned from Australia.

What caught my attention was when she said, “After my heart attack, I appreciate every opportunity more, because I know I’m on borrowed time.”

I thought, how beautiful… and how true. Aren’t we all living on borrowed time? We get so busy chasing who knows what that we forget nothing is guaranteed. Life as we know it can change in an instant.

In the sleeper next to ours, a man named Dave is traveling alone. He must be in his late seventies—a kind, gentle soul. On my way to the observation car, we started talking near the exit door and ended up chatting for over half an hour.

Dave shared that his 51-year-old son was diagnosed with MS in his thirties. In recent years, his symptoms have become more aggressive, and now he requires full-time care. Dave’s wife of over forty years passed away from cancer two years ago. Life has been hard, but Dave, like my mom, carries an incredible attitude. He told me that yes, losing his wife was devastating, but they were grateful to have traveled together even during her treatments—making the best of life while they could.

Now, he’s his son’s fearless advocate and support system. His love for him is palpable and deeply inspiring.

As I live my own caregiving story, I’m continually moved by the resilience of others—friends and strangers alike—each carrying their own quiet burdens. Life, real life, is nothing like what social media often paints for us: perfectly planned routines, curated meals, and polished smiles. Sure, those things are wonderful if attainable, but for most people, life looks very different. Many face health challenges, financial struggles, or limited access to care—or even food.

Self-care is important, because if we caregivers don’t take care of ourselves, we can’t show up for others. But sometimes, self-care simply isn’t an option.

May we learn to see others with the eyes of the soul, not through appearances. Everyone has a story. Be kind. Be gentle. Make time to listen.

And when someone doesn’t have the time or means for self-care, may we become their self-care—by the way we show up for them.