arriving alive

i set the alarm at 4am today so i could wake up at 4.30am to go fetch the flatmate from the airport. living in a quiet little 'burb denotes a 1hour drive to the airport somehow - there is a connection somewhere. and it was nice driving at 5 in the morning, for a change. 5am is sometimes the time that i fall asleep, so it was slightly odd to wake up while it was still dark. lovely for sleep-ins, winter mornings are.

at the airport, i witnessed a meeting that turned my insides to mush. i'm a softie like that. there was an understated joy in the meeting between a 60-something year old english woman - every bit like a granny in appearance, and a 70-something year old man (in a corresponding grandfatherly appearance). i'm not assuming they're a couple. perhaps they are. i would like that to happen to me when i'm 64. it was sweet, the manner which they kissed and hugged. slowly. and it made me feel there was a sense of quiet stateliness about the whole affair.

that's the thing i love and hate about airports. the (temporary) reunions and the separations. breaks my heart sometimes, even if it is a reunion. the heartbreakingly happy sort.

when i was younger, my dad had to travel overseas frequently for business, and i dreaded the news of hearing of a plane crash. i suppose i've never let on that it affected me so, but i made it a point to be around for dinner the night before each trip. that fact that that could be our last meal together as a family scared me shitless, really. not that any accident would cause us to be any less of a family... there'd be prayers uttered, and promises made to myself (which were sometimes forgotten after his return). but thankfully, he would always return safely.

and now, with some miles of my own, and a family separated by several time zones, i am still on tenterhooks the night before anyone close needs to travel. and i am still amazed by the grace that allows for safe landings.