The line arched halfway through the terminal, winding through people from all walks of life. We all spoke different languages, came from different countries, and likely had different life experiences, but we were all standing in the security line at The Milan Milapense Airport preparing for departure.
I was not worried about my own flight, instead my eye had been captured by one person.
The woman.
The lady.
The mother.
Probably in her early fifties, she popped out to me because she was standing next to a young couple in front of us. It was obvious from the start that she was accompanying her daughter and son-in-law to the security check point. She would talk with her daughter, fix a stray hair, hug her, give her advice (though they didn't speak English, so I'm speculating here), and every so often she'd just stare at her daughter's face.
I know the look. I've given it several times to my children.
It's a look that conveys one thought: "Does this child know how much I love them?"
It's the look a mother gives when we are trying to soak up every single moment with our child. We want to memorize their faces and gestures, their small smile lines and wrinkled noses. We want to remember their boisterous laughs, silly nuances, and their unique way of laughing so hard they cry.
This mother stayed in line with her daughter and son-in-law for almost an hour until we hit a point of no return, where only a plane ticket could get you past the checkpoint and give you admittance to the departure gates. The mother, with a trembling chin, shaking hands, and a forced smile, hugged her daughter in a tender embrace and kissed her cheek.
She watched her daughter walk down the long corridor to slowly disappear into the maze of people.
As the line shifted, we were redirected to a glass barrier that allowed us to see the front of the line. It was there, almost an hour later, I saw this mother standing in the same spot I'd seen her last. Staring into the distance, feet planted, face firm, immovable, with a single tear falling from her face.
I quickly took a picture of her.
I had to capture it.
The look.
As mothers we are called to bring our beautiful child into the world where we nestle them in our bosom, drown them in kisses, and soak up their sweet baby smell. Then they turn into toddlers with little dimpled faces, small pudgy hands, inquisitive eyes, and sloppy kisses. Before we know it they are in elementary school with projects due, boys hitting them, bringing snacks for parties, best friends, and boy scouts. Then we blink and they are in junior high. Soon it is choir practice, homework, mean teachers, spirit day, friend fights, school plays, and makeup. Then we wake up one day and they are in high school. Our lives become consumed with band practice, football, dates, breakups, crying, laughing, late nights, grounding, awful days, slamming doors and long talks. Then they graduate. Leaving the nest. Going to college. Getting married.
Like this mother, we stand resolute. We understand the nobility and heartache of this woman, this mother. The picture needs no words. No caption. She is sending her love down the corridors of the Milano MXP airport towards her daughter. I don't have to guess what she's thinking. I've thought it myself. All mother have had these same thoughts.
Will my love carry her through this life? Will she wake up in the midst of life and the tremors it will bring and say to herself, my mother loves me, therefore, I can do this? Will my love be enough to take my son through the trials of life? Will my love be enough when the bills come knocking and the world seems topsy-turvey? Will my child know that there is no distance between us that is too great for my love?
I don't know the answer. But like this mother, I stand firm in my love for my children. I stand with my feet planted, praying, wishing, and sending my love out to them.
Such is the love of a mother.
Such is the love of this mother.
Such is the love, I hope, my children feel from me as their mother.
Post a Comment