Minnesota Prairie Roots

FOR ONE MONTH and nine days, the Ticketless Travel Passenger Itinerary has hung on the side of my refrigerator.

His flight departs Boston Logan Airport in Massachusetts at 5:15 p.m. He’s taking the scenic route, flying first to Atlanta before connecting on a flight to Minnesota. He always does the connecting flight thing to save money.

I have not seen him in nearly six months, not since July 7, and I am beyond ecstatic that my son will be home for Christmas.

I miss my boy, although he is not truly a boy, but a towering near 21-year-old in his junior year at Tufts University in Medford, MA. Too far from Minnesota for my liking. But he is happy there, at a college that suits his talents and academic needs, and that is what’s most important.

You get used to it after awhile—their absence. Or at least I tell myself that. I will always miss my children. Always.

At 3:44 p.m. (Minnesota time) on December 18, he texts me:  About to board

Those are the sweetest three words I’ve read in six months.

Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo, Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport.

Thursday, 10:41 p.m.:  Just landed

Those are the sweetest two words I’ve read in six months.

Friday, 12:08 a.m.: Home.

One. Sweet. Word.

© Copyright 2014 Audrey Kletscher Helbling