We left the airport in a long white taxi van with a humming engine. My father, the captain, in the front seat, my mother, the supporter, in the middle seat next to my sister Danielle, the giver. Behind them, Maddie sat in a bucket seat. I saw her as the comforter. Then there was Scott, my husband and the eternal optimist. At this point I felt I was the dreamer, writing my story with the hope that someday it would mean something.
So far the landscape seemed similar to others I've explored. Banana trees lined the thin asphalt road that wound through tropical mountains. Families overflowed the beds of pickup trucks, houses wore bright paint and the people bright clothing.
The tropics were familiar to us all as our parents had chosen them as a vacation destination throughout our life. But new lessons would emerge slowly as we traveled, like the evaporating water rising from the rain soaked roads we drove over on this first day.