Words... what do they all mean?

I drove Alan to the airport yesterday. We got an early start and built in lots of fudge time, so we arrived in San Francisco at 11:30 (his flight wasn't until 4:30). The check-in windows for Virgin weren't even open yet, so we stood in line but didn't have to wait long. He checked his bag and got his boarding pass and we took our time walking around, had lunch, schmoozed through a bookstore, where he finally said, "It's time." So we walked to the security area where much tearful kissing and desperate huggage ensued. I watched him work his way up to the metal detectors and through them, and stood on my tiptoes so I could watch him for every last second I could. Then I lost him. He hadn't gone down the hallway to his gate - I'd been watching that, too - but I couldn't see his brown hat anywhere. So I stood there for what felt like forever, pretty sure that he _had_ gone down to his gate and I'd just blinked and missed him, but hanging around just in case, you know? In movies the person flying would either completely change their mind or come back out for just one last kiss, or something... (/hopeless romantic)

So I stood there watching this sea of unfamiliar faces, losing hope every minute but unable to make my feet take me away, when his hat reappeared. And was moving _away_ from the hallway to his gate. My heart just about stopped. I ran over to the security area exit and saw my eyes _weren't_ playing tricks on me, so I hugged him and babbled "ohmygodohmygodohmygod" as he tried to explain that he had to go through immigration (wouldn't it be "emigration"?) before he could go through customs. So we set about to find it and nobody we talk to seems to know what we're even talking about, much less where to send us. So we end up at the other end of the terminal and down a few floors, in the International Arrivals area, and are sent to a door marked Special Alien Registration (though even this was only a "maybe the folks there will know where you need to go"). The officer who opens the door for us looks just as confused as we are about why we're there, and after Alan explained about three times what he'd heard over the intercom (non-US citizens needed to clear immigration before going through customs), tells us, "that's not me, man," and after finding out that Alan had already _been_ through customs when he heard the announcement, and everything had been clear, says that he's good to go, and didn't need to do anything else. I could see the "Gyah!" painted across Alan's face.

The officer then proceeds to ask Alan where he's headed to and why, and when he's coming back to marry me. *blush*

So we finally get back to the security area and say goodbye _again_ (as if once wasn't bad enough). But it was actually better the second time, at least until he disappeared again and I was standing there alone. I make my feet walk away and find a spot I can watch his plane, intending to stay until it pulls out of the gate and everything. But it occurs to me that I'm running up the parking meter, and he probably won't come back anyway (as it's past boarding time), so I made my way down to the parking garage. But the _entire_ way there, I can still see his plane, and when I get into my car, it's sitting _right_there_ in front of me. Gyah. Put it in reverse, drive away.

$18 later, I escaped the garage, and as I got back onto the freeway, I noticed another parking structure with a banner saying "SFO parking now available, $12 a day." Shite, I should have gone there instead of paying hourly. As my dear boy would say, llama llama.

I was surprisingly okay on the drive to mom's to pick up Morgan, and was denied the opportunity to bawl on her shoulder because Rich's daughter and her husband and two kids were there so mom was playing hostess. Guess it's a good thing that I couldn't just wallow. Morgan asked for him as I was packing her into the car to come home, "Where Alan?" I told her, "Alan had to go bye-bye, honey." She frowned. "No Alan bye-bye," and similar mutterings and grumblings. Mom hugged me goodbye and assured me, "He'll come back. He loves you and is really serious about you." Squee. I forced a grin and said, "Yeah, he likes me." "No," she corrected, "he Loves you," which makes me wonder exactly what the two of them have been talking about...

It was hard to fall asleep last night - teddy bears just don't snuggle quite the same - but I was happy to wake up to a phone call at 4 am telling me that Alan had arrived safely. It feels wrong not to be there with him as he's embarking upon this new life, but I have unresolved business of my own here.

Best wishes and prayers and love are being sent across the Atlantic.