The story I could not title

Mirella spent three hours at the special Miami-bound airport terminal with me mostly waiting till the last moment before I needed to enter security.  I had a beer and she had a coke and we talked about what I would do when I got home and when I would return, etc.  When it finally came time to get in line for the security, the line was a huge crowd and slightly hectic.  I was little caught up with travel nerves, but as the crowd got closer to entering customs there was a palpable heaviness. And then, it began.  I noticed a little boy in front of me crying softly, and then his father, uncle, bothers, grandmother, and mother.  They began to kiss and embrace each other as though we all stood on a sinking ship, holding so tightly they could not breathe and crying without shame.  The inconsolable kissing and hugging continued until the focus seemed to rest on a couple.  The woman’s face was red and streaked with make-up from the tears still coming, her long black hair pulled away from her face, and the strong but slender man sobbing on her shoulder had taken his glasses off to wipe away the tears.  They held on with everyone around them watching and crying, and I began to think that they couldn’t let go.  Then the customs agent called her and as she pulled away, the man collapsed down to head in hands, sitting on his heels.  His brother bent down to lift him up and hold him and they sobbed together.  Then the small boy followed his mother through the one-way door, and the family watched and wept for every last glimpse of them.  When the door closed they watched for a moment longer… before turning solemnly to return home.  I became so caught up in their grief that my throat tightened around a lump and I blinked hard to keep back the tears.  I noticed other couples and families crying softly and saying goodbye.  And as Mirella and I stood amongst the crowd I could feel her doubt I would return, I could see her tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and her lips pull tight to hold back her emotion.  And at that moment I felt it, the truth of the embargo, of the US travel restrictions, of the economic state of Cuba, it was like a huge monster crushing us and throwing us helplessly about.  I tried to reassure Mirella I was coming back and I would see her in a month, but I knew she could tell that I had my own doubts… would I really come back?

After I myself went through the door, I could not find much reason to do anything, but sit soberly until we touched down in Miami and the half-empty plane erupted in applause.  And then I remembered the same thing happened when I first landed from Miami in Habana, we had all made it across 90 miles of political conflict and 50 years of estrangement, and going back would be just as hard