You take the good, you take the bad you take them both……

I went tonight to the airport to pick up my mom and dad. They spent 5 weeks in my father’s village in Italy. I arrived on time which meant, in Alitalia terms, that I was 3 hours early. I waited at the International Arrivals doors and watched people. I believe there are very few things I enjoy doing more than being in an airport watching the world go places. I really am not being facetious. I love watching people in cafes, parks and even the airport.

The way too beautiful woman waiting for her way too beautiful husband had no inhibitions about public displays of affection as they kissed and he gave her a romantic dip designed for all to see. Clearly he was away far too long and clearly they will enjoy their evening. The elderly couple returning from whatever corner of the planet they visited rolled out in wheelchairs as their 5 or 6 grandchildren stood with balloons and flowers. I saw an exchange student meeting her host family for the first time. It was a tad awkward as the mom held out her hand for a rather formal handshake and the young teen hugged and kissed her multiple times. Americans are weird like that. You would not have to be too alert to see the two nuns greeting a third as she came out of customs. She was carrying a hand-crafted toy guitar that she obviously carried all the way from Rome without breaking it or bending the paper towel tube neck. It was fun watching them giggle as she recalled how hard it was to get through customs. How do you strip search a nun (Don’t answer that People in the Sun!)? I love this mini red carpet walk people take at the airport. I love the fact that no matter how comfortable we become with technology, people still treat an international flight as if they were Charles Lindbergh himself. We are still awestruck at the thought that we are flying over the ocean and that we somehow arrive in one piece.

The times, they are a changin’ though. I saw Massachusetts State Police everywhere. As some of the 9/11 terrorists used Logan Airport as a jumping off point for their cowardly act, I am comforted by the extra police presence.

Of course, I was not there to look at people. I was waiting for my parents. Most of the crowd had dissipated and spread out to their respective corners of the City. Finally, they emerged from customs. I knew something was wrong but it was only intuition. I greeted my parents as usual with a kiss to both of them. In my 42 year history with my father, the only time I have kissed him is when we are seeing the other off at the airport and maybe when I got married.

As I loaded their luggage into the van, I was struck by how cautious my mom was with my father. “Donato, do not lift those. Let Danny do that.” Yes, I am still called Danny! Leave me alone. When we arrived home, the same thing. He was warned not to lift anything heavy by my mom. This is to a man that is stronger than I we have said will outlive us all. He is the very picture of health.

When we came upstairs to their house, my mom immediately listened to their messages. The first, second and third message was from my father’s doctors office confirming an appointment tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning! Why so soon?, I asked my mom. She didn’t get a word out of her mouth because she began sobbing. It appears that when my father was in Italy, he had an incident where his speech was getting slurred and he was becoming increasingly frustrated. They called a local doctor and was told to either come into the hospital immediately or to take the next flight back to Boston to be seen by his own doctor. Apparently, he made that appointment with his own doctor but not until they arrived home. He did not see the doctor in Italy either.

As my father was telling me about the wine in Italy and how it was inferior to our own home-made wine and I looked at his face, when eye contact is so hard sometimes. Then it was very apparent to me. My father had suffered a small stroke while in Italy. The right side of his mouth drooped and he slurred his words as he relayed his wine story. I assume the damage is permanent, but what is killing me right now is I am faced, yet again, with a reminder that my parents are mortal.

Thanks for listening.

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