Finding the courage to comfort

How my mom and I manage tear-filled goodbyes

By Jenny Hudalla

I craned my neck over a sea of rolling suitcases, drinking in the airport atmosphere while clinging to my grandma’s hand. Too busy studying the crowded security checkpoint to listen to my mother’s goodbye, I snapped to attention when I heard a hitch in her voice.

“Be good while I’m gone,” she said thickly, mashing her cheek against mine. “And remember to tell your teacher that Grandma will pick you up from school.”

Her tears looked strange against the backdrop of her sunny attire. Even at 9 years old, I knew what I needed to say.

“I’ll be okay, Mom,” I smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

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Fast forward a decade, and the scene looks similar. Harrowed-looking people rush about with carry-ons in tow, and my mom and I are locked in another embrace. But this time, I’m the one who’s leaving.

“I don’t know if I want to do this anymore,” I say, trying to steady the quiver in my voice. “Maybe study abroad isn’t for me.”

Even the white noise of the countless languages spoken at Madrid-Barajas Airport can’t muffle the screams of panic echoing inside my head. My mom’s weeklong vacation to Mexico paled in comparison to the three-month-long separation that lay ahead.

Determinedly dry-eyed, my Mom offers me a brave smile and squeezes my shaking hand.

“You’ll be okay, Jenny,” she says. “I’ll see you soon.”