The Dork At The Airport

My beloved sister is fond of calling me a dork.   Today, I might have deserved it. 

Last week I wrote about letting go.  You can read the post here.  Synopsis: I am a teacher where my boys go to school.  My eldest Diego, will have to leave our school after kindergarten is over to attend first grade at the local public school three blocks away.  I am planning on being a strong mom inspiring confidence into my child as he braves first grade in a new, big, public school away from the small cozy one where we are now. If today is any indication of how that separation is going to go … well, it isn’t going to go very well.

Today Diego is going on a one-week vacation trip to Los Angeles, CA.  My mom is taking him to see my sister out on the west coast.  He is excited, and we have been preparing for this.  We even did a special shopping trip to Target (which to Diego is THE best thing ever).  All was going well.  I was perfectly okay with the idea of him going, expanding his horizons, experiencing new things all in a rather known environment given that he is with my mom and all.  For me, I was almost feeling guilty as I was “kinda sorta” looking forward to some quality time with my younger son, and with 50% less work in the evenings I thought I would even score some free time.  My mom raised me and I survived.  Chances are, Diego is going to survive and love the trip too.

Diego saying goodbye to Felipe who was on his
his way to school.

So much to my surprise, as Diego and I went to pick up my mom at her house to take them both to the airport, I felt a tremble in my chin and my vision became blurry.  I was holding back my tears … its one of those things I am really bad at.  Where was that strong mama bear that was going to make sure her son knew he would be fine?  I put on a happy face, played with him, hugged him and kissed him as much as I could.  He was a little anxious as well as excited so we were both clutzy and awkward.  He broke a glass candle, I almost crashed the car.  You know, the usual nervous excitement stuff.

But when we got to the airport I lost it.  The strong mama bear was nowhere to be found.  I tried, but there is this sadness that came from my stomach and in seconds made its way to my eyes and I couldn’t help the tears.  Mind you, I cry very ungracefully.  My whole face wrinkles, my mouth contorts in ways that are very unattractive and I lose total control and have no idea when the crying is going to start or stop.  At that point, my rational self has taken a hiatus and this babbling, emotional idiot takes over.  I act as if it’s the end of the world, not as if my son was given a tremendous opportunity.  I don’t want to act or think this way, but I can’t help it.  I carry all 68 pounds of him and smush him as tight as I can.  He obviously realizes that I am crying but acts brave and courageous.  He takes the role in comforting me and that makes me feel even worse.  I take a breath, pull up my sunglasses, and show him I am crying because I am excited for him and for him to have the time of his life.  That we are okay and will be here waiting for him … in 7 sleeps.  And he kisses me, tells me he loves me, grabs my mom’s hand and they walk away.  I go to my car and become inconsolable.

I know airports well.  I have said my fair share of tearful goodbyes as well as tearful hellos.  I remember at 15 moving away from Brazil and being devastated as I said goodbye to my friends who where with me until I crossed security.  I remember arriving in Boston after a long summer and jumping into the arms of my college boyfriend, so happy to be back.  I also remember running through terminals in heels and running through terminals with a double stroller.  I do know airports well.

I also know, rationally, the advice my friends are giving me.  I have given it hundreds of times to them.  My mind knows he is coming back in a week and this is something I have to do but there is something more powerful than I that is not letting me understand it.  I look at his picture, or at his bed (unmade, of course) and think about how much I miss him.  Of how I would rather have him here, whining about the rain instead of there … away from me.  I want him back now. 

Then I breathe, and I remember feelings aren’t facts, and the fact is that he is so lucky to be going, and I am so lucky that he is my son.  That I am grateful of having two healthy, happy boys and that I just need to let this swell of emotion come and go.  Instead of feeding into it with thoughts of loss, I need to watch them float away.  Cry if I need to, and stop when I can.

From the airport drop off to the school pick up of my second son I had about 1 hour.  I went home, tried to distract myself with the basic goal of taking the crying face off.  When I cry, the whole world knows.  My whole face puffs up.  My eyes get lost in this red sea of sorts and it is impossible to hide the fact that I was crying. 

At school, Felipe sees me and runs to me.  He jumps on me as usual and I hug him fiercely.  I think, maybe I can take him out for ice cream or do something special … just  the two of us on this lonely rainy Miami afternoon.  And as soon as this thought is over, he asks if his friend can come over for a play date right now.  And I say yes, even if all I want is to hold him and play with him myself.  Because my letting go process may not be gracious, and I may not be as tough and as fierce as I thought I was or would like to be.  But the process is underway and that includes sharing my boys with the world, even if it means the world can see this dork was crying.

Felipe (aka Captain America) enjoying his play date