The streetlights shimmered against the dark asphalt of the road. Traffic was like a scampering herd, the honking and yelling of drivers becoming obnoxious. Why can’t people understand we are all in a hurry and not yell about it? Every other second someone was bumping into me, shoving me every which way like a punching bag. Their muttered “sorry” with no empathy as they rush by was not helping my discomforted mood at all. They don’t even look back to see if I’m okay. I sighed, I guess that is to be expected in an airport during the holidays. I anxiously waited in my spot, looking at the revolving doors, trying to maneuver myself as people come charging forward with all their things.
My daughter asked me to pick her and her husband up from the airport. I haven’t seen her for six years. What will she think of me? Does she hate me? She called me up three weeks ago and asked what I was doing for the holidays. Then she dropped the news that she was pregnant and wanted me to be a part of their lives. Lately, I’ve been missing her. When I had her all I cared about was work and getting the promotion. Funny how you don’t appreciate the things you have until they are gone. When we had our argument, I thought I would never see her again. It has filled me with devastation. Every time I reached out, she would ignore me. So, when I got her call, I felt relieved but nervous anticipation too. I hope I don’t disappoint her again.
As I sat there pacing back and forth like a guard dog, something caught my ear. I turned my head to see what it was. A mother and her teenage girl were arguing about something. They were a couple of feet away, and so many people were walking by I could only catch glimpses of them. The mother was waving her hands about so aggressively I was surprised that she didn’t hit anyone. The daughter had her arms folded up tight to her chest, rolling her eyes dramatically. I chuckled, my young daughter coming to mind, with her black hair and dark eyeliner. Boy did we argue during her emo stage. As I watched this small encounter, the flash of memories brought tears to my eyes; if only I could go back in time, I reminisce.
After a couple of moments had passed, I suddenly remembered why I was standing there and jerked my head back to the entrance. I hope I didn’t miss them walking out. It would be terrible trying to navigate this crowd in search of them. I took a step forward, hopefully getting in a better position for them to see me. I hope her flight was okay, not too rocky for the baby. As I repositioned myself, I came across a young boy patting and yanking at, who I assume, is his father. I halted. The loud conversing of everyone around made it so I couldn’t hear them, but it looked like the boy was getting frustrated with his father, who was so engaged with talking on the phone he didn’t notice his son. After a few seconds, the boy gave up and just trudged along with his father’s pace. Before he went out of view, I saw the tears welling up in the boys’ eyes.
Suddenly, I was in my home office, talking to a client. They called me up in a worry about the court case that was going to take place the next day. My daughter, who was about seven at the time came rushing in, holding a piece of paper. “Mom, Mom!” she called, “Look what I made!”
“Not now!” I snapped.
Someone barreled into me with a grunt, sending me toppling for balance. I was able to find my footing, and as I looked about me, I caught the glimpse of the boy again, with a trembling lip. Is that how I treated you? Is that how you felt? I should have been more present as a mother, I reprimand.
There was a scream of joy and giggles which had my head turning back to the entrance. What looked to be a family, sisters, maybe friends, were running to each other and squealing like those girls on TV who see a new dress in a shopping window. They were embracing and talking over one another. I cannot comprehend how they understood a thing any of them said. Is that how she will greet me? In happy tears? Will she have so much to say she would be tripping over her own words?
Before I knew it, a tear was streaming down my face. It is too late for something like that, no point in false hope. I wiped my tear away and looked at the glass doors again, and that is when I saw her. My daughter was waddling around like a baby chick, smiling up at a man, who I assume to be her husband. I gasp, and take a shaky breath. My nerves overwhelmed me, and I bit my lip. No, there is hope. She has given me another chance. I may not have been there in the past but I will be there for her future. I start pushing myself through the crowd with intension, ready for our new beginning.