The Last Hours
We grabbed a few snacks at the Tokyo station and hopped aboard the Narita express.I felt a bit guilty because I was feeling really cross with her. I tried not to let on, but I think she sensed it. I was just very tired and she had chosen the wrong line for us to stand in. Then she moved us somewhere else, and then somewhere else. I just wanted to sit. Worst of all, she finally took us to the correct line and it was the line I originally wanted to go to, but I said nothing because I figured she knew what she was doing.
We had two reserve seats on the Narita express, so we sat down, held hands, and watched the small towns pass by our window. She rested her head against my shoulder and we each tried desperately to think about something else. Saying goodbye the last time I left Japan was torture. She was still in the hospital, we didn't know if our baby would survive (although the prognosis was generally positive), we hadn't been able to spend much time together as she was bedridden in the hospital. I had visited her every day for as long as the visiting hours would allow, but it wasn't the same.
This time everything was ok, she was with me everyday and we spent all our time together, but it went by so fast.
We got to the airport, checked in, got my boarding pass, and sat down in a faux Itallian cafe for some food. We talked about what it would be like when she left for the US. Her mother and father do not speak to one another. When she left for the UK years ago, they both drove with her and her sister to the airport. She said it was most uncomfortable and she hoped her trip to the US would not have the same stress.
We also talked about how we would only be apart about 2 months, which is about how long we were apart the last time. It seemed like I had been to Japan very recently, so this time would go by very fast as well. I told her not to worry, we'd be together in a short time, and then we'd be together for good.
No more long distance, no more long goodbyes. Just us and the world's naughtiest dog (WND) until the baby arrives. Then, it's on to the domestic future-building and the daily challenges of parenthood.
"Just think about the future," I told her. "And these two months will be gone before we know it."
We ate some pasta and headed for the security check-point. She held back her tears as long as she could while we embraced. The hardest part was saying the word "goodbye". I could say everything else, but choked on that word everytime. I eventually got it out, gave her one last kiss, and reluctantly trudged to the security line. It took me a few minutes to regain my composure, but as I left the checkpoint and headed downstairs to the customs area, I could see her through the glass wall that separates the waiting area from the security area.
She had walked right up to wall to see me one last time. My emotions came back as I waved to her. She followed me along the wall to area where the escalator took me out of sight. We each gave one last look and one last wave, and we disappeared from each other's sight.
Now I was telling myself not to worry, ...the two months will pass by quickly. In minutes I was on the plane, in hours I was asleep over the pacific. 11 hours later I landed at O'Hare and walked out into the frozen midwest air, eager to see my dog, and once again wondering why I chose to live in such a cold place.
With the names of the Tokyo train stations still fresh in my memory and the weight of my luggage still hurting my back, I laid down in my cold room and attempted to contemplate my new direction in life, but I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
I've got two months to think about it. Check that, ...I've got the rest of my life to contemplate it.
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