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Journey's EndDAY TEN
By Staff Writer COLLINS CONNER 
At dawn on the last day of their meandering, cross-country train trip, Linda Howe, right, and her sister Karen Hammer sleep while the train rumbles through the Florida Panhandle. Linda Howe's first year of widowhood ended the way it began: with a journey of grief and discovery. On June 4, she set out on a month's tour of America, hoping to leave behind the disappointment that her daughter and son-in-law weren't moving to Florida. She boarded a silver Amtrak bound for Washington, D.C., Chicago and points west. She swapped life stories with fellow passengers, talked half the night with her young seatmate and joked the next day that she'd slept with a good-looking 24-year-old. In Seattle, she met her sister Karen Hammer. The two women hadn't been particularly close. Karen was a free spirit; Linda was more straight-laced. But they had great fun in Seattle and on their meandering train ride to Florida. They were waylaid in Spokane after a train derailed ahead of them, so they spent two days shopping and traipsing through Riverfront Park. They crossed the waterfalls in a gondola and rented a bicycle built for two. They played video games in Montana, visited their two sisters in Wisconsin and, as the train clattered south, they tried to sing ballads with German tourists who spoke no English. In New Orleans, as they passed a bar on Bourbon Street, Karen lassoed the bartender and planted a kiss on him. "He was in need!" she said, laughing. Back in Florida, they boarded the SS Dolphin IV bound for the Bahamas. By then, the sisters had been together for 26 days. Old animosities resurfaced. "You'd rip Milt a new a - - - - - - every time he spent any time with me," Karen accused. "He'd call me up when you were up to church, mending your ways, or whatever it is you do when you go to church continually . . ." Linda bristled at Karen's flirtations with the men on the ship. "You think I'm a sex kitten," Karen said. Linda didn't answer, but her unvoiced disapproval dropped over Karen like a net. Karen hated how, no matter what the topic, Linda always mentioned her health. "You keep reminding us that, yes, you are sick." Karen sealed herself in the cabin or took solitary walks on deck. Linda shopped alone in Nassau and snorkeled alone. In the ship's noisy game room, she sat apart, scratching the silver film off lottery tickets. On July 8, their excursion over, Linda took Karen to the airport. "There's only one way to do things and that's your way," Karen said at the gate. Linda's thin smile faded. Her face went blank. She lifted her hand in a cursory wave, turned and walked toward the exit. She was crying before she reached the door. "I feel stomped on." All the way home, Linda sobbed out her hurt. "Am I such a terrible person? Is she right? Do I always think of me first and my sickness?"
Then it hit her: This was an old feeling. This was the way she felt when Milt was alive. Inadequate. Incompetent. Foolish. But Milt was gone. Karen had left. Linda didn't need to feel this way anymore. She was free. No more barbs. No more guilt. No more shelving her wishes to accommodate Milt's. She could buy potato salad with peppers. She could play her keyboard in the middle of the night. She could eat at a restaurant or grab a burger from the drive-through or skip dinner altogether. She could stay at church as long as she wanted. She could give her kids time and money without hiding either gift.
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Distressed over her deteriorating relationship with her sister, Linda Howe stands at the rail of the SS Dolphin IV cruise ship in the Bahamas. Linda spends this Independence Day alone.
