Home again

His flight was due to land at six-thirty in the morning and we didn’t want to miss him walking through the arrival gate so even though we knew he’d take a while to get through immigration and customs, we were there on time. We waited for him with sleepy eyes. I’d made a sign.

            Over the months that my eldest son, still only eighteen, had been off travelling in Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Slovakia, Germany, France and so on, it wasn’t difficult to keep in touch.  Aside from when he was travelling the Pamir Highway in Tajikistan (why?!?), Whatsapp allowed us to video call for free whenever he had a wi-fi connection. We saw his face and enjoyed his familiar mannerisms.

            I didn’t fret for him while he was away. Even when he called from Istanbul unable to find his passport or from Paris where the ATM ate his card and a few days later, after he’d recovered the last of his money through Western Union, he was pick-pocketed on the metro. (He chased the guy down and got his wallet back with the help of a security guard on the station despite our warnings before he left home that he was never to do this).

            During these calls, I kept my breath and voice calm and trusted that this was part of the journey for him. I put the phone down and felt genuinely sure that, despite the current difficulty, he would and could cope, that he’d figure things out for himself. And he did.

            Towards the end of the three months, I allowed myself to miss him. I looked forward to giving him a long hug, to feeling the way that he sort of tightens up because he wants a cuddle and doesn’t at the same time. To think about how he’s always been like that, how he loves so fiercely and openly and yet holds back a little in a physical sense.

            So, in the same way that the last few days before he left on his travels were a bit tricky for me, so were the few days before he returned. The excitement and anticipation of seeing him and having him home safely is not necessarily a comfortable feeling. It’s a bit edgy, like all experiences of attachment, not relaxed or peaceful.     

            He lost eight kilos from an already lean frame and got a tattoo. He came home with a swagger, a confidence begot from facing new and challenging places and situations and coming out the other side to tell the story. There are lots of stories. From staying with locals in the Tajik Wakhan corridor glimpsing Afghan communities across the river to seeing a man beaten with a fence paling in Istanbul and dancing with locals in nightclubs in Berlin during pride week.

            Since he came home he’s changed his bedroom around, taken down torn and tatty posters and put some framed prints up on his walls. He’s got a new job in a pub and accepted his place at university next year. Did his time away from home give him clarity, direction and greater self awareness? Yes, I think it did.

            Did it help me to get off his case, worry less and allow him to choose his own path? That would be a yes.

            Let them fly.

            With love, Kerry.x