I audibly groaned as I saw the security line at the airport, snaked twice around the terminal, corralling people in two separate areas before even getting close to TSA, so far back that when I rolled in, I was well past the roped section.
I pulled out my phone and took a step every few seconds until I was stopped abruptly by a large Asian family in front of me as we finally hit the first corral. I peeked up from my screen long enough to see them, now split, with the younger couple stepping out of line after hugging a pair of older couples and saying their good-byes, though still walking next to them outside the ropes as we all moved forward.
I didn't think much of it and went back to scrolling and shuffling slowly forward.
When we moved through to the second corral, the family embraced again, except this time when I looked up, the girl in the younger couple was sobbing as she held one of the older men.
She could barely let go as we continued to walk forward, and held on as long as she could, then turned quickly, running out through the revolving door.
When I turned back to the family still left in line, I saw the mother quietly wiping away her tears, her head low, the father's hand resting softly on her shoulder.
We need those fast forward buttons pushed sometimes. Because soon 2 will be 22. The kisses will have to last a few months not just a few hours.
And the long embrace will never be long enough.
As I watched those parents in front of me, all the moments when I just wanted time alone, when I impatiently shushed them to sleep sitting quietly in the corner of their room, when I sent them back to their beds for the 400th time in the middle of the night rushed up through me with reckless disregard.
I cried quietly and looked down, shuffling forward towards home.
Where my heart is. For now anyway.