Poems by Patricia Keough Wilson

15

Waiting at the Airport

Patricia J. Keough-Wilson

July 2015

 

There you sit, patiently, visible on the bench closest to where I will exit the airport’s secured area.

I return to you, caught between relief and sorrow, between lighter and burdened, between less and more.

And I remember that June morning when I walked eagerly toward you, all lighter, freer, somehow younger.

Your smile lighting my way into the safety of your open arms.

Before 9-11, before terror stalked our country’s shores, there were no security measures barring open armed welcomes at airport gates.

Thank God because you had been waiting four decades to sweep me into your arms and claim me as yours.

And I’m not sure I could have waited any longer. I might not have made it on trembling legs to walk into your arms if you had not been able to come toward me with long strides, smile wide, eyes speaking your love.

I stepped into an embrace familiar from those teen years when we bonded deep and sure, always comfortable and secure in who we were together.

We created a safe space, safe place, our secret treasure waiting for us to reach an age of wisdom to open that treasure with keys stored in our hearts and our memories.

Then you asked me that question finally, to come marry you and live our love and friendship until heaven calls.

And today you again wait patiently watching for me; your smile starting in your eyes as I step into your vision.

We meet in joy and in shared gratitude for a grandson now airborne, headed home.

We embrace to comfort one and other over the miles and months that will keep us apart from Ezra who has claimed a large space in our hearts.

We don’t speak of all the loved grandchildren living too far away and growing up and away at a too rapid pace as we too speed up heading toward the unseen but known finish line of our lives.

I say none of that. I just smile. Tears make my voice shake slightly as I say, “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

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