Going Through Security, I Held You for so Long

Awake at 3 am on Friday, December 9, 2009. Arrive at Columbia Metropolitan Airport at 4 am. Pre-flight pictures are taken, small talk with nervous laughter is made. Check-in time. I write the labels for his luggage to keep myself occupied and to give myself something to focus on beside him leaving and being 6,000 miles from home. Bags are weighed and paid for, checked in and then slide down the conveyor belt to what I hope is the correct plane.

Time to board. Time to say goodbye. I hug him and tell him I love him.
"I've never been so proud of your courage & determination to follow your own path," I cry.
"I love you, mommy," he says, "you need to let go now."
Does he understand how profoundly his words effect me?
He hugs his dad, his hero, the one with the shoes he is trying to fill.
He hugs his two friends, Joey and Matt. What fine men; they can express their feelings in a public airport and hug their friend goodbye.

"I'm sorry ma'm," the officer explains, "no one allowed beyond this point but the passengers."
"But, sir, I am his mother," I plead my case.
"Yes, ma'm, but even you can not come beyond this point."
"Ooh," I begin to cry and feel no shame in the tears coming down my face.

He passes through security and my eyes hold on to him as he slips off his backpack removing his laptop and places the items in a security bin. I hold him up with my eyes as he removes his flip-flops, worn specifically because he can easily slip in and out of them going through security.

I cry still as my eyes hug him as he walks through the electronic gate. I cry harder as he spreads his legs holding out his arms while the homeland security officer waves the wand down one side of his body and up the other side.

Still I cry. I continue to hold him with my eyes as he packs is laptop into his bookbag, slips on his rainbows. He turns, searching for my face, searching for my eyes, smiles at me lifting his right hand and giving a. He turns and walks away. Back straight, head up, purposeful steps. He doesn't use the moving stairs, he needs no help. He moves with his own determined, courageous, fearless steps away from me, toward his Furture, his Destiny, his Life.

I watch him until he is but a small speck; then he is gone. I cry some more and my husband holds me. I think he I hear this strong man sniff and choke back the lump in his throat.