Live, Love and Carry Proper ID

I left my son at the security check at the Copenhagen airport today and it was so much harder than I thought it would be. He is headed back to Los Angeles, on a nonstop flight that we booked back in July, back when the parting tears were fresh and my husband and I wondered if we had been wrong to drag a 15-year-old away from his best friends.

But this morning, as we stood there, and he let me hug him and kiss him in public, I suddenly felt panicked. He was getting ready to walk through the security gate and disappear and I would not be able to follow. If he needed me, I would not be able to help him.

I walked away, forced myself to breathe, told myself to stop being silly. I would have LOVED going on a trip like that when I was 15. My parents let me go on a trip to Venezuela when I was 16, and it was life changing in all the good ways.

Besides, I am proud of my son. And I love his friends. They are all great kids with great moms who have eagerly agreed to pick River up from the airport and drive him around LA. I want him to have this opportunity. He is so excited about going to LA to visit his friends. I am excited for him.

But my heart froze.

Twenty minutes went by and he did not call to tell me he was at the gate. I went to the airport Starbucks because there are no Starbucks in Malmö or anywhere I have been in Sweden, and I had told him I would stay in the airport until he boarded the plane. Ten more minutes passed, still no call.

I called, left a message, decided to buy my train ticket back to Malmö, kill a little more time before I went back home to the emptier apartment.

This is how it is going to be. This is the future.

While we were walking through the terminal to the security gate, River had almost sounded hesitant.

“I’m used to associating travel with us, with our whole family,” he said.  “It’s different to be just me.”

It was as if that reality had just occurred to him for the first time after weeks of planning, anticipating, dreaming about going to visit friends.

Yeah, that is part of this whole international thing. If Dad and I are going to live outside of the US, you are going to have to travel to us sometimes. It’s good.

I thought about my daughter in college in Colorado. I went with her to college for move-in. I wanted her to feel established in college before she felt alone, but I know the next time she flies to see us she will be coming on her own too.

Scattered.

It is part of adventures, paths diverge, converge, diverge again. There is always something new, somebody new. The best travelers love and let go and move on to love more.

Family is different though.

I miss my parents. I miss my daughter. I miss my friends, the ones I know I could still call despite a 9-hour time difference and say, “Can you pray for me? I’m feeling like a wreck today.”

River is on a plane to visit those kinds of friends this week. It’s good. It’s really good.

After what seemed like an eternity, and exactly half of my Starbucks, he called. They were holding him at passport check, not letting him leave Denmark. His plane was boarding and he could not leave.

I freaked out.

It was exactly what I worried about. He needed me and I could not come to him.

What is the problem? You have your passport? You have your Swedish ID card? He didn’t know. He just had to wait, and so did I.

I knew I couldn’t go back to Malmö until it was resolved. What if he didn’t make his flight? Would we be able to get him on another flight to LA? What about our trip tomorrow? Kip and I were planning to go to Madeira. We had plane tickets and hotels booked. We were only planning for it to be the two of us.

I walked back to security. They said, no. Of course they could not let me through to passport check. I waited for a while longer and then decided to walk back to the airline check in. I found a helpful clerk who called the gate, told them the situation. Maybe they could hold the plane…. maybe. Somehow I doubted they would hold a fully booked, nonstop flight to LA for a 15-year-old who could not convince police that he was legally living in Sweden. I was not even sure why the Denmark police cared.

Finally, River called. He was getting on the plane. It was ok. Just a misunderstanding. He would call later, when he got to LA.

In the wave of relief that passed over me I remembered that this was exactly what international travel is all about — the unexpected, the freak-out-moments, the unknown. Its why so many people don’t ever leave their comfort zones, let alone the US. I’m ok with being the one sweating in security line while the plane is boarding. I’m just not used to watching my young adult son navigate it alone.

Alone. I felt his absence.

I want my son to have an adventure-filled life. I want him to explore, to dream big, to climb high mountains. I want him to reach his full potential with nothing holding him back, not even me.

I took the commuter train back to Sweden, watched the water flowing under the Øresund Bridge, and thought about all the days ahead of us, all of us. Paths together, paths apart. Paths. Like the rhythm of a commuter train.

The bridge ended. We stopped in Hyllie, just over the border in Sweden and border control officers boarded the train. A young blond woman in a lime green reflective vest, an official Border Security uniform, stopped at my train seat when I showed her my US Passport.

Where is your proof of residency?

I showed her my identity card, just like the one my son showed passport control in Copenhagen.

That is not a residency permit. 

But I have one. I have a Swedish personal number. I have a bank account and an apartment. Do you know how difficult it is to get a personal number and a bank account, obviously, I could not have gotten any of that without legal residency.

No, I need proof of legal residency, a card.

Maybe she meant the little red card we got when we arrived and were photographed and fingerprinted at the migration office?

I waited while she conversed with a group of her green vested colleagues who had gathered to determine my fate. The train stood still.

After a few long minutes they came to a consensus. She let me know my mistake and let me go with a shrug, a typical Swedish chastisement. I muttered something to the Swedish passenger next to me who responded something polite about immigrants, and I nodded. I know, it’s not personal, its just the system.

I got off the train at my regular stop, walked the few short blocks back to the apartment, enjoying the crisp fall air and thinking about my own trip to Madeira the next day.  I might not pack my heavy jacket. But I’ll be sure to bring that residency card.

Live, love, let go and carry proper identification.

Just a few of my dear California friends on our last night together.