The Hardest Part Is the Goodbye Gate

I love airports almost as much as I despise them. 

It simultaneously represents the closeness of humankind and the miles that sever us. Airports are the places of tears; happy tears, sad tears, angry tears, tears with no definition. It is a reminder that we are separate. 

I walked through the airport with one of my best friends, Jo, last December. I flew up to see her, stayed for a day, left for Oregon to see our other best friends, Penny and Sara (who I affectionately call Jams) and departed to our respective states after the trip. We entered the airport in Oregon together and we left it together, too, even though we weren’t on the same planes. Upon making it through security I bought us slices of pizza and we ate it at Jo’s gate. I had messily braided her hair earlier and it was already falling out. Jo tried to remedy it after we’d finished eating but her hair refused to cooperate. She left it alone and we slumped in our seats next to each other. 

We had already said goodbye to the others, watching as Jams went off on her own to her early morning flight. It was hard not to despise her plane ticket or the security guards as she walked through. Couldn’t they have found something wrong? Where she had to stay with us a little longer somehow? Jams looked back and we all had almost burst into tears. We said goodbye to Penny a little later in the day when she dropped us off at the airport. Too much time inside that cursed building, is what I thought. Too much emotion trying to strangle me. 

Jo leaned against me as we waited and we sat– for the most part– in silence. She tried to make everything better, tried to smile and laugh with me. But every time I tried to form words to tell her how much I loved her, or to say a joke on the tip of my tongue, I would choke, tears welling up in my eyes and threatening to spill over. 

There is some sort of rebellion I get in my chest when I say goodbye to someone. It is a rage that bubbles up inside of me. 

How dare you leave me.

No. 

How dare I let you go.

I know, deep down, that because we say goodbyes it makes the hello mean so much more. A world without goodbyes is a world in which connection does not actually matter; perhaps this is why technology is slowly ruining our lives. We are trapped in a world in which goodbyes do not exist. Everyone can see when I'm active online, everyone can message me, everyone can insert themself into my life and I have no choice but to forget the word “goodbye.” 

This digital world is my blessing and my curse. Without these advances, I would not be as close to my long distance best friends as I am. But also with them comes the realization that goodbyes– real goodbyes– are becoming so much harder. In a world full of digital love, airports are the harsh reminder that we are not made of zeros and ones. We are made of heart and soul, and flesh and bones, and love and sorrow. 

The time marched on faster than I wanted to at the gate with my best friend. It seemed like we’d only just gotten there when suddenly her boarding group was called. I stood in the back of the line with her, checking and double checking that she had all she needed like the overbearing grandma-friend I am. The line moved forward. 

Ding! Ding! “Enjoy your flight!” 

Ding! “Enjoy your flight!” 

I hated the chirpy sound of the flight attendant’s voice. 

Ding! “Enjoy your flight!” 

The line was moving too fast. 

“Hey,” I began. 

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! “I hope you all enjoy your flight!” 

She looked back at me. “Yeah?” 

Ding!

“Be safe. Text me when you have your layover. I want to make sure you’re safe. And–” 

Ding! Ding! Ding! “Enjoy your flight!” 

“I love you,” I said. 

“I love you too.” She hesitated. “I have to go now.” 

Ding! Ding! “Enjoy your flight!” Ding! “Enjoy the flight!” Ding!

I let go of her hand and I watched as she neared the desk. The tears were worse now, filling everything so I could barely see her at all. 

Ding! She looked back and I couldn’t stand the sight so I waved and fled to the bathroom with my suitcase and backpack and cried. I cried even harder when I walked to my own gate, for once not caring I was in public. No one said anything, and I walked on, thinking about how much I hate airports. 

But now I think back to a week before that goodbye, and I remember arriving in her hometown airport at 11pm in a blizzard. How she attacked me with a hug despite the slushy sidewalk and how everything suddenly felt okay. My anxiety slithered away and all I could think about was how right everything felt. 

It is a strange thing, to say hello after a long period of time. But what is worse is saying goodbye when you have such little time with someone you love, even if there is hope you can see them again soon. So I have come to the conclusion that airports exist to remind us of the brevity here on earth. It is a reminder that death is always a threat above our heads. 

As disheartening and morbid as that sounds I also must admit that it is because of this threat that I treasure the deep friendships I have. If I did not live so far from my best friends I would not be able to love them as fiercely when I am in person with them. If it were not for distance I would not treasure things. Without darkness, you cannot admire light, without distance you cannot value nearness. Somehow every glance is a reminder that we are all here for a certain amount of time, and I have a set amount of time I can love certain people. I only want to love and be loved. So I say I loathe airports but really I think I would not be the person I am today without them. And I don’t think you would be the same person, either. 

I look in the airports and find those like me, crying in corners. And I smile at them, make conversation, and love from afar. Because yes, I do hate airports. I hate that it reminds me of distance. But it also reminds me of just how far we’re willing to go for love.  

Written by, Sophie Leavitt