Part 2: The Long Way Home (38 Hours of Exhaustion and Everything I Carried)

There are moments when doing the “right thing” doesn’t come with an easy path. When flying wasn’t an option, we chose the long way home — a 38-hour train ride filled with exhaustion, responsibility, and more luggage (physical and emotional) than I ever imagined carrying. This part of the story is about endurance, systems that failed us, and the quiet strength it takes to keep going anyway.

When I booked the tickets, I made sure we could travel in a room, not coach. My mom would never have been able to endure such a long trip in coach, let alone walk back and forth to the bathroom when needed. Thankfully, at the very last minute, we were able to book an accessible sleeper on the lower level of the train.

The trip was supposed to be from Chicago to Tucson — 38 hours total. I was hoping it would be somewhat relaxing, especially for me.

When we arrived at the Amtrak Metropolitan Lounge, we were met with the worst kind of customer service. Despite having made multiple phone calls and carefully arranging assistance ahead of time, we were met with cold instructions to “scan the QR code” instead of compassion or guidance.

By then, my mom was in a wheelchair, pushed by my husband who dropped us off. I was juggling her walking rollator, two huge suitcases, my suitcase, a carry-on, a bag full of medications, a blanket, coats, her water bottle… and then add five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree.

I joked — not really joking — that I felt like a Peruvian donkey climbing a mountain, carrying someone’s entire livelihood.

When boarding time arrived, chaos followed. The “assistance” we had requested turned into confusion, lines, rushed instructions, and a golf-cart ride that required me to lift, push, carry, and steady everything — including my mom. Seniors around us looked stressed and overwhelmed. Somewhere in the process, I dropped and broke her water bottle… and nearly my sanity.

It’s a miracle I didn’t have a panic attack that day.

Once we were finally on the train, I was just grateful to be moving. The frozen meals were disappointing, Texas felt endless, and my mom kept asking, “We’re still in Texas?”

Yes. Still Texas.

But somewhere along the way, I realized this journey wasn’t just about getting home.

By the time the train finally began to move, I realized this journey was carrying more than just luggage. It held exhaustion, responsibility, fear, and love — all moving forward together. Somewhere along the tracks, something began to shift.

Stay tuned for part 3 next Monday…