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.
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