Departures

At some ungodly hour of the morning today, I found myself awake, trying to peer through the condensation on my car windows as I picked up a friend to drive him to the airport. I am not a morning person. I am not one who likes to be early. And yet there I was, up before the sun, racing to get him onto his flight. Because while I’m not one to be early, not one to like leaving my bed before having to, I AM one to who believes in having a ride to the airport.

Perhaps there’s a bit of it that’s morbid thinking, but for the most part, who wants to leave home feeling that no one noticed that you were gone? With someone there to see you to the departures gate, you have a real farewell of a sort, even if it’s not necessarily the most intimate one. Someone was there to make sure you got there safely, to wish you well, and to tell you that they’d see you again soon. What if --and here’s the negatively-thinking part--what if the last person you sat in a car with and said goodbye to was the anonymous limo driver you’d never see again anyway?

And then there’s the coming home. My favourite time to come home from being away is when being picked up by the one I love. My dear family is always there to get me should I need, and always ever curious as to how my trip was, but it’s not the same greeting as when greeted by Him. When He’s there to welcome me home, it’s an all-enveloping hug--both arms and legs-—and deep, I-needed-you-kiss...luggage left unattended and some distance away to allow for the running start. It’s my favourite gesture to remind me just how good it is to be home again.

While that’s my favourite time to come home, I can only imagine that it would be for anyone else. And that’s why, while I may not be that Her for any of them, I’ll head to the airport anytime I can, for anyone that may need it—for anyone who may need a warm welcome home.


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I was in PEI this past weekend; I watched two close, personal friends get married.

I came into my office yesterday to a weeping officemate—-her sister just announced she was pregnant.

Tonight, I’m going to spend an evening with some of my best and longest-time friends, some who are married, all who are in couples.

...tick...tick...tick...
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How do you even begin to get the toothpaste back into the tube after it’s been squeezed too hard?

I stick by it; I'd rather know than not.