It’s funny how days that are supposed to be ordinary end up feeling monumental. Today was one of those days. I woke up at 8, finding my husband, @borniet, sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, staring out the window with that familiar nervous energy. He had been on edge for the past two weeks, but today was different, our son was flying back from the States, and that anticipation was palpable.
After getting dressed, we decided to head out early to do our weekly shopping. The routine felt grounding, like something we needed to steady ourselves before the long drive to the airport. By 11, we were on the road.
The sky was a blanket of gray, with the faintest hint of something resembling the sun peeking through. It was the kind of day that makes you want to wrap yourself in a blanket and sip hot tea, but we had a mission. As we drove, I couldn’t help but marvel at the landscape, the bare trees standing like skeletons against the sky, the occasional plane soaring overhead, cutting through the clouds like an arrow heading home.
When we arrived at Schiphol Airport, the atmosphere buzzed with the energy of people coming and going, each with their own story, their own journey. There’s something comforting about airports. They’re places of hellos and goodbyes, of anticipation and relief, of joy and sometimes tears. We walked around, taking in the sights, the festive decorations still hanging, the little shops bustling with activity, and that iconic “Welcome Below Sea Level” sign that always makes me smile.
And then we found him. At the wrong gate, of course, because that’s just how these things go. But when we saw his familiar face, all the nerves and the long drive melted away. We hugged him tightly, holding onto that moment of reunion like it was the most precious thing in the world.
The first thing he said, though, caught me off guard: “I want to go back.”
Not exactly what a parent expects to hear after weeks apart, but I understood. His heart was aching for his girlfriend, whom he’d be apart from for the next six months. It’s never easy to say goodbye to someone you love. But as much as it stung to hear, I couldn’t help but feel proud. He’s carving out his own path, making his own decisions, and that takes courage.
As we drove back home, the sky seemed to mirror our emotions, somber but with streaks of light breaking through. Life, after all, is a series of comings and goings, of holding on and letting go.
I’m proud of him. For the choices he’s making. For the love he feels. And for the journey he’s on.
Here’s to more reunions, more journeys, and more moments that remind us what it means to be connected, no matter where life takes us.
Stay warm and hopeful,
A Mom Proud Of Her Son
So glad to see him back! So sad to see him with the heartache!!!
!HOPE
!INDEED
!LOLZ
!BEER
!WINEX
!BBH
!PIZZA
Yes it is, but you hoped for this outcome and he is happy with it. He is just missing her
$PIZZA slices delivered:
@borniet(13/15) tipped @nathalie-s
@nathalie-s! @borniet likes your content! so I just sent 1 BBH to your account on behalf of @borniet. (9/20)
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