I am sure there are many people that associate airports with “going somewhere”, but I have always looked at it as an end to a certain period in my life, mourning the friends and fun that becomes a has-been.
But nothing was more depressing than the goodbye to my husband and 2 year old yesterday. It sounded good on paper. Saga needed a long summer in Sweden to improve her Swedish. I needed to be in Texas for a dear cousin’s wedding. So I booked our trips 3 weeks apart. Olivia stayed with me and Saga went with dad. Saga was big enough to realize that I couldn’t join them and she wouldn’t take her eyes off me as she waved a confused goodbye at the airport, trying to be brave.
Now, I am supposed to be cherising these 20 nights without being awoken by Saga but instead I awake with a semi-broken heart. My mathmetician husband didn’t fail to remind me that 2,5% of her life will have passed by the time we meet again. Seriously honey? I could have lived without that statistic.