My mother flew home today for Christmas. Robby, Jack, and I made the drive over to the airport to pick her up then zip down to a family Christmas with my Granny where Mom’s arrival would be a surprise.
Airport security being what it is, it’s really killed the airport experience. Leaving France this week our party went through the security area leaving Mom on the other side… and I realized that Jack won’t know what we once did– the joys and sorrows of saying hello and goodbye at an airport gate. He’ll see scenes from older movies and wonder that his mother is old enough to have such memories.
So there I was in the crowd milling around the fogged glass doors of the customs area waiting. There are two sets of automatic doors. You can’t see into the area itself and it leaves you to guessing which flights have passed through by looking at the passengers as they emerge. Today Mom’s flight from France came through at the same time as one from Japan and one from Germany. Robby and Jack drove the ring outside, circling as the Homeland Security People waved all cars from pausing or stopping without a passenger approaching with luggage.
I watched an old woman come through the doors. Her face lit up immediately at the old man waving at her and, when she reached him, they kissed and embraced and I wondered where she’d been that he had not gone, too. A younger girl was greeted by a middle aged couple (her parents? an aunt and uncle?) and they hurriedly gathered her things and left.
There were others and it was fun to try to match up people waiting with those that emerged from the fogged doors.
But the group that really caught my attention was about 20 deep. There were balloons and flowers and signs that said, “Welcome Home MOM!” Who was this woman that so many people had gathered for? She had, waiting for her, old people and young– small children that tugged impatiently at the adults who ignored them as they peered at the doors and mumbled to each other, “Surely she would have called if there was a problem?” Behind me a brother-in-law of the group pushed a small child in a stroller and checked in on his sweeps around the room. Their anxious tension was infectious. My curiousity peeked. I called Robby on the cell phone and wondered to him who this large group had gathered for– who garnered this kind of anticipation? Had these people never let one of their own leave the country before? Why was it necessary for ALL of them to be here to greet this one woman?
I scanned the emerging passengers for Mom hoping that she would not arrive before I could see who this woman was.
And then she was there. And it all became clear. She wasn’t much older than me and in her arms was a tiny, perfect Chinese daughter. The mother’s hand constantly stroked the smokey black head of her wee girl and there was such a rush of tears from the entire room– myself included– at meeting this new member of their family.
Sometimes, when I’m holding JackRabbit and I am aware of every hair on his head, the musty smell of his neck I wonder about the exact moment that he no longer needed me to breath for him. I was knocked out– there was no “It’s a boy!” moment or bloody, fresh baby laid on my chest. We had our wits about us when we laid eyes on each other… I remember waking up, seeing Robby, and knowing that I was a mother. How long had this woman been a mother? A matter of days? weeks? How do you measure that anyway?
By the time my mother emerged I had learned the little girl’s name and congratulated one of the grandmothers. And thought how lucky I was to see the safe delivery of someone’s first child.
The nicest gifts come from the strangest places. If it weren’t for all the regulations that prevent my own mother from walking us to the gate I’d never have seen such a thing as I did today.
Remind me of that when I have to take off my shoes to walk through the metal detector, will you?
