 French la Vie The leaving.
It asks more of me now- this goodbye pierced heavier, and deeper.
This time, something happened that caught me off guard. I cried uncontrollably at the airport. I remembered the first time I left home for France.
I cried so hard I could barely board the plane. Once I was in my seat, before takeoff, a flight attendant came over and gently asked if I was all right, if I wanted to get off. I could not answer with words I simply shook my head no.
Forty years later. The arrivals and departures no longer travel alone. They carry everything
that came in between.
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