Do you know that feeling when you are OK, but something is missing? It’s like when a piece of metal is far from a magnet. It’s fine. It just sits there. It looks complete. You would never imagine that it is feeling a little lonely; not quite complete. But if you move the magnet a little bit closer, the metal starts to shake. It doesn’t look so content. It’s not so fine. And then, bam, the metal flies toward the magnet and connects to it with ferocity. Now you see wholeness.
Yesterday I picked up my youngest daughter at the airport. She has been working in Italy for three months. I’m really OK when she is away. I work, spend time with family and friends, walk the dog, I’m fine, really. We keep in touch through emails and texts, Facebook and Instagram, and an occasional FaceTime chat. I get used to this way of being. You probably wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary if you observed me from afar. But as the day of Morgan’s arrival drew closer, I began to anticipate seeing her in person, hugging her, laughing with her. Then the day came. I tracked her flight all day long. The little plane on the screen moved slowly, from Italy to the UK, over the wide expanse of ocean, across Canada, and slowly down the East Coast. She was going to arrive early! As I drove to the airport, I could feel my excitement. Then I hear a text come through. “Landed!” And then…there she was, at Passenger Pickup A. I jumped out of the car and ran. She strolled toward me, her two huge suitcases in tow. She smiled. I gave her a huge hug. The magnet met its metal. I am whole again.