I love the airport. People watching. The coming and going. The kisses and hugs. The goodbyes. The tears. The humanity and stories. Struggles and resolve.
A friend deposits me at the airport today. We are discussing this thing. She prefers airport goodbyes. The bittersweet separation. I, of course, prefer the reunions. The sprinting thrust of bodies. The crushing joy. The smiles and laughter. Children holding onto legs. Moms cradling missed babies. A partner intertwining fingers with another.
If you see that the moment has come to depart because your paths separate at this crossroad, you say goodbye with great gratitude for all that the other has been to you, for all the joys and all the pleasures and all the beautiful moments that you have shared with the other. With no misery, with no pain, you simply separate.
This is what my friend sees. the beauty in the separation. The sadness that is inevitable but which also signifies completion. A new beginning. Forward movement. I am learning to let go of the past. To open my hands and my heart and release. Without a tossing away. As someone whose life has been filled with loss and separation, it may take the rest of my lifetime to trust that a door closed will also reopen. A moment gone will be replaced by another and another. A lost lover is not ever replaced. They remain in spirit, in memory, in lessons learned. A lost lover is never actually lost.
A lost lover is the ending of a cycle. A lost lover is sometimes the pinnacle of pain. A lost lover can be a rain storm washing away the shackles of dysfunction. A lost lover can be freedom. Much like the exhilaration of flying away to some place new.