"Hi, my name is Leigh. I'm 31 years old and I cry whenever my parents drop me off at the airport." -Facebook status, Friday afternoon
I'm almost 32 years old and I cry every time I say goodbye to my parents now. Without fail.
I'll be fine up until the moment I hug them, whether at the airport or in the driveway. Perhaps it's my subconscious way of cherishing the moment and remembering to hold them close and not take for granted we'll see each other again. Life changes too fast. Even so, I feel sheepish wiping away tears as I enter the airport terminal or drive away from the house.
I've always been a fairly adventurous soul, rarely thinking twice about where I'm going. I'm not sure why it changed but I know when. I remember clearly the first time I cried when saying goodbye. Just 24 years old, they dropped me off at O'Hare as I headed to Thailandto volunteer with a nonprofit for 3 weeks.
The tears made some sense. After all, I'd never flown out of the country before, I was traveling alone, and I didn't know any of the volunteers I'd meet once in Trang. I had just finished grad school and this was my treat to myself: one last hurrah before finding a job. I knew I wanted to go but suddenly, it was hard to leave. But I did and had the time of my life.
Before moving to Nashville, my goodbye tears were limited to Big Trips. Such as the mission trip to Ecuador in 2005 in which I was convinced I was going to die. Thankfully, I survived.
Living in the same town for much of my life meant regular stops by my parent's house to catch up, eat some home cookin', or ask Dad for handyman tips. When I moved, that all changed. My parents helped me settle in to my new home but it didn't really hit me how much would change until it was time for them to drive back to Illinois. Enter waterworks.
Don't get me wrong. I love my parents and I thoroughly enjoy my time with them but I'm not a perfect daughter. We have ups and downs like every family. And I really, really love my life here. I can't foresee moving back to Illinois any time soon. These goodbye tears are probably here to stay.
I had a wonderful time in my hometown over Christmas. Last year seemed heavy with activity, people, places, and things. This time around felt better balanced. I saw most of the people I wanted to see and spent a good amount of time with my family, sprinkling down time here and there. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to take that long of a Christmas vacation again. I made sure I made the most of it.
Friday afternoon we made our way to Midway airport while listening to The Story CD I'd gifted Mom for Christmas. Some of those lyrics don't mess around. I felt my heart stirring and knew I'd be helpless once it was time to get out of the car.
Dad pulled the car over and yanked my laden suitcase out of the trunk. I hugged Mom and the tears began to prick. They were in full force by the time she released me to say goodbye to Dad. I smiled through the sadness and said I'd be OK, that I didn't know why I always reacted this way.
Then I grabbed my belongings and stepped in to the airport, wiping the evidence away and hoping the Southwest employees wouldn't notice. I wondered when I'd grow out of these tears that make me feel so small and childish.
And like any person with a Facebook account, I posted my foolishness for my friends and family to see. I'm not sure whether I expected people to laugh at me or sympathize but the solidarity came rolling in.
People of all ages and backgrounds confessing their airport tears. Some crying tears of happiness at reunions and some crying tears of sadness at goodbyes. Some crying while watching other people cry at the airport. Their words comforted me. I'm not alone in this reaction.
Maybe I don't need to fully grow up. My parents are important to me and my tears are just one form of proof.
Do you ever cry at the airport?
