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But today, on my own, I am free to survey,
spritz, select and purchase, and buckle up for the ride.
It was when I arrived at my destination that
something rather disconcerting happened. Whilst I was waiting for my colleagues, I noticed an older couple standing next to me and watching impatiently at the arrivals. Suddenly, through the sliding doors, appeared a
couple with a small toddler. They looked up expectantly and saw the older
couple (we can assume grandparents) waiting for their arrival. It seems they
hadn’t seen their grandson for a little while. They knelt down, almost in awe, beckoning
their grandchild gently- you could see what they wanted to do was swoop him up
in a massive hug. In true toddler style the child was shy and hung on to his
father before finally breaking into a smile of greeting. Joy. Hugs all round
and off they go, on to their lives.
Meanwhile I’m standing there, with work colleagues, sunglasses
on, fighting back the tears.
The scene strikes me for 2 reasons- its reminiscent of my
own parents turning up unexpectedly to meet me back from said transatlantic trip
with the girls- unwilling to wait a moment longer and overjoyed to see them.
The grandparent/grandchild bond is repeated the world over.
But the reunion is also a scene reminiscent of the (dare I say cheesy?) montage
at the end of "Love Actually", and one that is familiar day after day in airports
around the world: brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, parents and
children, lovers all sharing an outpouring of emotion and connection, in a
strangely public and anonymous place.
And it makes me want to cry. Every time.
Of course, I can put some of it down to being a mummy, which
means that even the silliest things (recent John Lewis ads!, watching BGT) can draw a tear.
But there is something universally compelling and emotional
about witnessing, or indeed being part of, an airport reunion. Flying through
the arrivals gate from the anonymity of transit into the arms of loved ones, the mix of excitement,
anticipation, nervousness, love that peppers these reunions, are played out large
in the echoing airport arrivals lounge- true emotion, stripped back, out there
for all to see. That’s real life isn’t it?- perhaps grandiose to say- but it’s universal and binds us
together.
So, back in my French arrival lounge, I dig out my blackberry, draw a breath, and
tap away, focussing on the day ahead, and polite conversation. But, really, I’m
looking forward to my return, in a few days, to my husband and children,
waiting expectantly at the arrivals gate of Terminal 5, for me to round the
corner.
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