The door closes and my husband drives off to the world I know, the world that exists day after day after day in my physical universe.

I walk into the alternate universe.  The one where other's live and have their issues with burning hot coffee and deadlines and weather.

Is this nonsense?  No, but yes, but no, but yes.  I head into a world where I do not matter much.  Until I push a few atoms and leave impressions on sandy beaches and add my voice to the cheers of strangers watching my son perform.

Letting go makes no sense.  I do not let go.  I cannot let go.  I am not a letting go type of mother or wife or friend.  I obsess, carrying my concerns like a spine bending backpack. 

Who are these people passing me as I sit in a ZAZOOX machine and type my thoughts and feelings and leavings and comings? 

Men in cowboy boots, women in leather coats.  Where are they headed?  Who are they seeing? 

Airports are holy ground.  Hellos and goodbyes forever spoken here.  First visits and last visits, births and deaths are celebrated in this place, haven of the relationship. 

Deals are made and broken from this place.  Hopes are chased and let go as strangers rush past, contemplating, delegating, anticipating.

Two minutes to lift off.  What animal will be on the tail of my Frontier flight?  This is the biggest dilemma of all, as I prepare to fly the friendly skies.