I don’t think I’ve ever had a more stressfully sad trip to
the airport, though the time when Mum and Dad forgot their passports would come
close. It was May the 10th, and I remember it like it was yesterday.
Our bus was full of the
shirelings (as we’ve taken to calling ourselves) George, Aiden, Benjamin,
Tamara, Megumi, Ruth, Covenant, Janet, and myself. We were late in leaving home
(what else is new) and though we had a lovely ride for most of the way,
talking, playing the ‘I’m going to a party’ game, singing psalms, praying, and
reading New Morning Mercies together. It was lovely. But in the last 10km or
so, we hit traffic, the sign said 36minutes to Tullamarine, and we prayed that
we would make it on time. We started coming up with what skills everyone in the
car would be able to use to help Tamara make her flight. Aiden would plea with
his lawyer skills, Ruth would save someone’s life with her paramedic skills,
George would call out ‘Everybody move!’ so the way would be clear and Tamara
would make her flight. So we made the game plan, who would grab what bags, and
everyone would usher Tamara to the counter while I went to park the van. The
time was getting close, and it was 7:45 when we pulled up to the doors (exactly
90 minutes from when her flight was scheduled to leave) – I dropped them at the
door and went to find a place to park. The only problem is…the height of the
bus. It’s too tall to fit in the undercover parking area except for one place –
which has 2 regular spots and about 20 disabled spots. The other place it can
fit is the outdoor carpark place. So I drive around and around the outdoor
place, hoping for someone to come move their car so I can take their spot. I
drive in and out of the carpark, wondering if I should just park in the disabled
parking and plead my case later. I try ringing the Melbourne Airport Parking
Assistance phone line, only to be told the first time that their opening hours
are 8am – 5pm. It’s 7:58. I ring again and again and again and again, each time
making it so far as to get hold music for 10 seconds before they tell me that
all their operators are busy and use the email page on the webpage. I just want
to talk to someone, to ask if I can please park in the disabled parking just
this one time. Meanwhile, time is ticking, and I know Tamara will have to go
through the magical doors any minute now. All I can think is ‘I need someone
else in the car to keep trying the phone line, or to use the webpage so I can
keep driving around to find a park’. I pray that God would help me find
parking, and I’m wondering If I’m going to miss seeing Tamara, I hadn’t even
given her a hug. My last words when she got out of the car were “don’t you dare
go through the doors before I say goodbye”.
I get out of my car 3 times to ask someone if I can have
their parking spot, once a man said yes, but another car got to it before I
did. A second time just as someone was pulling it I pleaded with a man to let
me have the spot he just pulled into, pleaded with tears in my eyes “I don’t
fit in the regular parking, and I need to say goodbye to my sister.” His reply ‘sorry
but I need to park here’. The next time it’s a car full of Chinese people, I
speak to them and they drive into the spot, not even acknowledging my presence,
and all I can think is, “I need Aiden to translate for me” and his lawyer
skills would probably have been helpful with the other man too. At this point I
lose all hope, and I can’t stop the tears.
Aiden rings and asks if I’m coming soon because she has to
go through soon. It’s almost funny because I can’t say anything more than “I can’t…”
a few times because of my tears, when I finally get out “I can’t park, I’m too
tall…” Ruth offers to come trade with me. She gives Tamara one last hug and
runs to find me in the car. Firstly accidentally running the wrong way, then
she rings me and runs while on the phone, with me trying to tell her where to
go. I know that I need to get something besides my phone to bring to Tamara,
but I can’t think what it is. I see Ruth running towards me, and I tell her, I’m
leaving the keys in the car, and leaving it here (in the middle of the carpark,
unparked) I hang up to Ruth and run, slippers and all to the gate to find them.
I try to ring Tamara and Benjamin as I run through the airport, but they don’t
answer. Thankfully it’s a place I know well, and I know how to get to the
magical doors, the ones that lead to America. I’m running hard when I see
George in his minion onesie and there’s Tamara, she hasn’t gone through, and I
cry a tear of relief, I’ll get to hug her one last time. And I remember that I
left the note that I had written for her in the car. That’s what I forgot, but
it’s okay because I get to say goodbye.
So we do, we hug, we say kind words to each other, I tell
her that I love her and will miss her. And I am happy for her, but sad for us. And
we say goodbye. And then she walks away, through the magical doors that lead to
America. And I don’t really know what to think or feel.
I told Tamara in her letter that Stephen is a really great
guy, and marriage is a really great thing. Which is why it feels a bit like
Page CXVI’s version of the song Joy I told her that I am so happy for her, but sad for the whole country of
Australia. And I know that her version of the song probably sounds more that
the Cole family singing it than Page CXVI, and that’s okay because she’s going
to the great guy and that good thing, so I’ll keep trying to remember that when
I’m sad and missing her. But feeling this way also makes me think about
something else.
It’s goodbyes, it’s the sadness of living in a world where
separation is a real thing, that make me long so much for Heaven. Alastair
preached just last Lord’s Day from 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 and though it is
talking about Christians not grieving like others without hope in the face of death it also made me think about it in
the context of saying goodbye. We do have a hope that is sure and steadfast, an
anchor for the soul. We do have the joy of knowing that Heaven will be an
eternity with the Lord, we will be with Him FOREVER. And we will be in a place
with our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ where we won’t have to say
goodbye. A place where all sorrow and sighing will pass away. I think that any
time we say goodbye, any time countries separate us, anytime that we have
sorrow and sadness in this life, we get that reminder that we are longing for a
better country, a heavenly country, a place that God is preparing for us. It
puts eternity in my heart, and that makes the goodbye less hard. It makes the
grieving not without hope.
