Missing

I wake up this morning thinking that death is so very permanent. An obvious thought, but it strikes me hard as I get ready to go to the airport. For the past eight years, ever since he got his driver’s license, Colby has taken me to and from the airport. I travel for speaking engagements and business and he was always available to ferry me back and forth. I loved our times together as we drove down the highway. Most of our important conversations took place in that way. At the airport, he’d unload my luggage to the curb and give me a big hug. “Be careful, now,” he’d say. “Call me when you land.” If the plane was late, there inevitably was a voice mail from Colby waiting for me when I landed. On the trip home he was always late picking me up and we always had to stop at the nearest gas station, because he’d arrive at the airport driving on fumes. I learned to enjoy those waits. It was a time for me to put the most recent trip behind me, and focus on what I needed to get done now that I was home.

Today I drive myself to the airport, and park in the long-term lot. I ride the shuttle to the airport and cry all the way. This isn’t the way it is supposed to be. Colby should be here to drop me off. I find that when you cry in public, there are two kinds of people, the ones who look away and pretend you aren’t there, and the kind who rush over to see if they can help. The other three people on the shuttle this morning are all the kind who look away.

Now, on the plane, I realize there will be no one to call when I land. No one to care whether or not I arrive safely. If the plane is late there will be no voice mail from Colby to check in. When I return, I will have no wait where I can reorganize my thoughts. Instead, I will search the parking lot dragging my luggage behind because I have no idea where I parked.

I miss my son in so many unexpected ways. This is just the latest.