larger view

    Standing in my Old Navy blue jeans and my faded, blue shaded striped Polo, my arms wrap around my mom. Some unknown force will not allow me to release her for my heart has taken over the functions of the limbs. I had just changed my departure time, so I would have the extra time with her…well worth the additional $17. It was the middle of February, and I hadn’t set eyes on her since Christmas, over a month and half ago. As I released her, my heart began to quake and split like great earthquakes amassing the highest rating on the Richter scale. Then my heart was ready once again to try, slowly, carefully, as if she was a baby being cradled, to free her. Both of our eyes glistened, our tears never running down the sides of our faces. Inside I had almost come to grips with the fact that it would be at least three weeks, 21 days, or another 504 hours until we met again. That hug would have to suffice for sometimes a month or two.
    Every time my mother and I depart it reminds me of the day we departed from terminal ‘family’, gate ‘together under one roof’, and airline ‘happiness’. My parents are divorced, and I reside with my father and grandparents in Yoakum while my mom is 280 miles, five hours, or a 45 minute plane ride away. The divorce of my parents was one of the hardest things I have ever dealt with, but leaving your mother and going for periods of a month or more without seeing her is harder.
    The words that always utter from my mother’s lips are, “Don’t cry because then you will make me cry and get all upset.” This somewhat unsuccessful, regular motivational dialogue is her way of trying to be strong. We stand together surrounded by travelers, airport personnel, and security, waiting to remind me, “Please remove your shoes.” The generic, monotone voice of the loudspeakers announces the airport safety measures and passenger pages that seem inaudible to my ear.
    Now it’s my turn to be strong and let her go. She gently kisses my cheek, sending chills down my body. My eyes follow her through the crowd until she disappears. Regrettably, I remember the days when my mother lived in Yoakum, and I didn’t make it over to her house to see her enough. How hard was it to drive across town or even to walk down the street at one point? If only I had seen her more, spent more time with her, and prioritized the most important things in life.  My mom needed a change and relocation out of this town, so I cannot be too hard on her. The move was a positive one, growing each of our relationships tremendously. I eat a little lunch, pass through security, and make it to the terminal to board the plane in anticipation of the Southwest Airlines jet to roll upon the tarmac. Upon waiting in the ‘A’ boarding group, I like to check in early online, and think of the things I need to do when I get back home from the additional hour and half commute to the airport.
    The next encounter will be like the previous, later at night around 9:30 p.m. The visualization is almost like a computer model of me turning the corner of the security checkpoint, scanning the crowd for a possible bogey, my mother, not getting there fast enough as the first time. Thoughts of not seeing my mom for the longest time ever run through my head. I have my target selected, a lady in a red coat with brown hair and the grin, ear to ear, signifying her happiness at seeing her baby boy once again. We begin and end our meetings with this momentous force of wrapping our arms around each other, telling of love and happiness. Each pursuit of happiness is different, but mine includes a woman special to my heart, full of irreplaceable love and a roundtrip airplane ticket; however, the greetings and goodbyes get much easier.