The Unforgettable Airport Goodbye
Heading to the airport in an Uber, I scrolled mindlessly through Instagram instead of observing the cars, the trees and the lives whizzing by me. My feed was full of heated, divisive thoughts on trending topics ranging from the assassination attempt on Trump to Israel’s aid to Gaza to the best foods to eat to avoid belly bloat. I was in a vacuum loaded with unverified information, presented by many close-minded, biased (and often angry) providers.
Then I arrived at O’hare, entered the crowded security line and got forcefully spit out of that ego-driven void. I was instantly hurdled into a colorful vortex of pure humanity. A young man (who looked like a 15-year-old boy but must have been 17) was enfolded in his father’s arms. He was dressed in Army Combat Uniform, likely heading to Basic Training.
His mother stood a couple feet away, carefully dabbing at her tear-filled eyes. My own eyes filled with tears as I quickly looked away. I saw a young mother in front of me holding her baby boy and thought how he will leave home one day and maybe even enlist — in the blink of an eye. I busied myself by searching in my purse for my driver’s license before I inevitably glanced back again … and again.
The father’s embrace was tighter now, and his youthful-looking son held on with equal force. They buried their heads in each other’s shoulders with no hint of a desire to let go. Time seemed to have stood still.
The mom still maintained her composure (barely) as her son and husband clung to this goodbye hug and to each other. The woman standing in front of me turned and locked eyes with mine. We both were watching the same heart-wrenching scene unfold. We both were trying to keep our building tears from flowing. We both were a part of this symbolic moment, which was the antithesis of the argumentative crap I had just been consuming in the car.
I don’t know this brave “boy’s” story. I don’t know where he was headed. I don’t know the reasons he personally had enlisted to be a part of our army. I don’t know if he was an only child or if was following in a sibling’s footsteps.
But, I do know meaning. I do know parental love. I do know sacrifice and goodness when I see it standing 20 feet before me.
I also know that we get so caught up in our political beliefs, in the stories we are told, in the social media nonsense we are digesting. We hate each other without even having met. We argue without purpose. We feel displaced and alone.
Except for this moment …
Meaning washed over me as I pictured how I’d feel if my own son was hugging his father as he headed towards our world’s harsh realities. I imagined how I’d feel if one of my daughters was about to fulfill her desire to fight for our nation’s freedom.
Are those enlisted hopefuls willing to fight so we can post on social media with absent-minded abandon? Are they risking their lives so we can blindly spew hatred at one another? Or do they believe in a nation of respect, of safety and of order? Do they believe in the most powerful democracy in the world?
As the fellow tear-dabbing traveler before me smiled softly at me, I felt a deep sense of hope. I felt like I was a part of something much larger than myself. I felt a mixture of emotions colliding with each other, ranging from overwhelming sadness to immense gratitude.
The tears flow as I recall this moment now. It is actually one of the images that will remain imprinted in my mind. It is one that I will retrieve when I am feeling as if I am just one of billions pointlessly stumbling my way through my brief time here. It is one that I will cling to as senseless arguments, deadly bullets and hungry faces splatter our Earth.
I will cling to humanity, to faith, to goodness and to selflessness. I will cling to all that is beautiful. I will cling to my hope for tomorrow … and to honoring those sons and daughters who walk away from their parents’ abounding love to fight for our country.