With unmistakable precision and without a moment to waste, the doors slide open and a stream of relentless cold air welcomes us inside. The suffocating humidity of the outdoors swiftly gives way and I momentarily catch myself in stasis, revering the sanctuary that the airport offers. I snap out of it rather quickly and decisively remind myself that there is a flight to make; I make way.
By my side, my mother faithfully following my steps, just as I once followed hers. A daughter of three, born to immigrants and raised in a foreign country, she was strengthened by a plethora of obstacles set in front of her throughout her life. My memories are filled of her radiating care and guidance, tenderly embracing everyone around her, a warden of life. Losing my father some years back impressed upon me that the caretaker mantle should, and will, become my own. And so, ever uncertain in my ability I continue to try, as that is all one can do.
As we are walking down the wide corridor my mind is empty, the destination unknown; for some reason we make haste, yet our departure time is a mystery. I take a moment to think when my mother abruptly stops our stride and points to her watch, “it doesn’t seem to be working, the time isn’t changing”. Odd, I think to myself, as the watch is fairly new — a recent gift to her, a signal of our attempt to maintain order and balance in a new life without her husband, without my father. No matter, we can always take a look at it later, I reckon.
Just as we are about to carry on, the corner of my eye catches a glimpse of a woman no further than 15 meters away, she is wandering alone. Despite the distance, I cannot help feeling that she is peculiarly familiar. Wait here, I tell my mother, as I approach this woman in a curious manner. As I approach my eyes catch a clear glimpse of her and I am suddenly stopped dead at my tracks. This woman, she is not a random bystander and she is not just any woman, she is… also my mother, but somehow, she is different, older, more fragile. I stand there, dumbfounded, perplexed, and desperately attempt to conjure any rational thought that may begin to explain an inexplicable situation. I instinctively turn around and rush back to my mother that has been sitting at a small bench, patiently waiting for me. Seeing my unmistakably concerned demeanor she asks if anything is wrong; after a brief pause, I decide to reassure her and prompt her to wait for a moment more, hoping to buy time in an attempt to find reason within me.
My heart continues palpitating anxiously. My head feels as heavy as led. I arduously lift it up and my eyes slowly follow; as I glance ahead, I am struck with the realization that the airport is empty but for my mother, myself, and that woman. I gently look around, only to bear witness to more female silhouettes. It is undeniable; they are all embodiments of my mother at different stages of her life, not at the present, but in the future.
I feel afraid, yet I fight the tremor so that it may not propagate to my mother sitting next to me, patiently waiting for me still. I need to do something, but what. Unsure of how much time has passed and as I inch closer to desperation and defeat, I glance over and notice my mother’s watch once more, frozen in time. It is in that hopeless moment when every detail of this experience comes back to me, a a spiral waterfall of powerful emotions and thoughts from what seemed to be an eternity.
I stand frozen in time, ageless and invincible yet in an entangled juxtapose, my mother is growing old before my eyes, her body withering yet her person unyielding. I frantically attempt to fix the watch, to allow my time to catch up with hers but the attempt is futile. Her loving eyes meet mine and her weathered hand reaches out to me. She gently touches my tireless hands and softly says “do not bother yourself with that, my son, for you are where I have been”.
My heartbeat slows. The airport and everything within slowly fade away and one by one the silhouettes do so as well. I find myself shedding away all anxiety and serenity takes over. I lean my mother’s head on my shoulder. “Life” I think to myself as I form a smile and go back to sleep.
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