Home Again

Dad had already taken off in the morning (he was to go to the airport directly from a meeting), leaving Mom and I to spend the afternoon together before saying goodbye around three. Mom had to be at the airport by quarter to five, I had to be at the train station by four. Our schedules fit nicely, and after a calm morning at the bookstore and in a neighborhood cafe, we set out to go our seperate ways.

We waited for the Central line train together, but as she had to get off in only one stop - whereas I had several more to go on the same line - we hugged before getting on the train (you never know how crowded it will be). A minute later it came thundering down the tracks, and the two of us snagged two empty seats.

One stop is awfully short when it means you won't see your mom for a few more months. She kissed me on the cheek, gave me a little squeeze and I said, "Be careful out there, thanks for coming, and keep your purse zipped." She said, "Ok, Big City Girl..." with a face my brother, sister and I warmly refer to as "Mom's sad face" (it rears its ugly head at all goodbyes). Before we got in anything we really wanted to say, her stop had come, and she was stepping off the train. My seat didn't face the platform, so I waved goodbye as she stepped down and considered that the end. She took a few steps down the platform and I turned around in my seat at the same time she did from outside the train. We caught one another through the glass window behind me and she waved a sad goobye. My eyes smarted a bit. Then she walked down the rest platform to make her connection.

I let out a little sigh and thought to myself, "That was less emotional than usual." It's always surprisingly difficult for me to say goodbye to my parents - especially my mom because she usually tears up a bit. As I settled back in my seat, the doors closed and the train lurched forward. Rolling by, I turned around once more to see if she was waiting to say one last goodbye. She was.

I glimpsed her briefly - her body sped by and was a bit hazy through the tinted glass, but in that instant I clearly saw how amazingly giving she has been in supporting my living overseas. I am sure it is more difficult than I can imagine - two of her children live on opposite sides of the country (whereas my parents live in the middle) and one lives on the other side of an ocean. I know that, were she to have her way, we would all live two doors down from one another. And for a second there, I found myself wishing that we were neighbors as well, and that our visits weren't always reduced to a few hurried days here and there in unfamilar cities.

The unexpected shock of a surprisingly thought-provoking goodbye left me feeling sad and lonely and a little bit lost - where am I going? Why am I living here? Am I hurting my family? Do they think I am being selfish? Where do I want to live in the future? Do I really want to be so far away?

These thoughts kept on whizzing through my head, always accompanied by the image of my lovely Mom waving at me from the platform.

My saving grace was that when I came home, the Boy was waiting for me at the station. He has never, in all three (plus) years that we have been together, come to meet me at an airport or a train station. It meant more to me that he chose this time to do it than he could have known. It felt nice to know that I had somewhere, and someone, to come home to.