I bent down to hug her as she sat in the wheelchair at pre-boarding. We both held on tight. But we spoke only superficially. “Good-Bye hon.” “Good-Bye Mom, Love ya”. Neither of us wanting to acknowledge what we were both thinking. She’s 88 years old. This could be our last embrace.
Time to roll down the jet way. Might have gotten in one more hug, but the last embrace should be tight and long as we had just done, so I stood back and watched them take her toward the plane. I stayed until they closed the door, trying to savor the memory of the last embrace.
Will I get another chance? who knows? She’s a spry old woman, but I’m an old man myself now.
If all the medications and preparations designed to keep us limber continue to do their magic, and if the stars align just right, I might just get another go at a new last embrace. And while I will try to make it even better than this one, God knows it won’t be any easier.