I just dropped my son off at the airport.

Six weeks.

It’s strange being here this way. Everyone else is with someone. They have carry-ons, food for their flights, snacks. Families traveling together. Business travelers with briefcases and laptops. Everyone has somewhere to be and someone to be with.

We went to the special services line instead of the automated kiosk. Forms to fill out. An unaccompanied minor wristband and lanyard for my son. Standing in the security line, we blended in with everyone else. It wasn’t obvious that I didn’t have a bag. I looked like a traveler. Like everyone else.

After security we got him a few slices of pizza, a soda, and a little candy for the flight. We walked to the gate. We looked like every other traveler.

They were already boarding when we arrived. I checked in at the desk and the attendant looked at the paperwork.

“Okay, say goodbye to your dad and meet me in the line.”

We didn’t have time to sit and relax. I gave him a big hug, told him I loved him, and guided him toward the line. The attendant walked with him through the door.

And that was it.

I sat down at the gate and watched the rest of the passengers board. A few minutes later I got a text from my son letting me know he was in his seat. The attendant came back through the door. The remaining boarding groups filed through. I did my Duolingo.

Eventually they closed the door.

A few minutes later the plane was pushed back and taxied away.

I gave myself a few more minutes. Then I stood up and headed back through the terminal.

That’s when it hit me.

I was walking back with no bags. Alone. Moving against the current of people who were arriving, who had somewhere to be, who were with someone. I felt like people were watching me and wondering. It must have been a strange sight. I felt exposed. Vulnerable.

The terminal felt infinite. I walked. I wanted to run. I didn’t breathe until I got to the car.

Then I started the drive home.

Alone.