I have said goodbye to my parents in an airport 7 times over the past 3 years. After we let go, they stand back and watch the security line take me deeper into the terminal until I'm out of sight. Another goodbye, another chapter.
In year one, they heard me cry over a choppy skype signal from homesickness, and they read my stories of joy about riding tap taps and eating fried chicken. Year two, they listened to Jean Marc play guitar on my couch and prayed me through sleepless nights of aftershocks. Year three they watched Pierre's grin light up the video screen and tracked along with hurricane news and cholera crises.
They've been a part of the story from the beginning, from the first e-mail to weighing hockey bags, never failing to send care packages of decadent cookies with anyone from the Niagara region, and counseling me through every emotion under the sun.
I feel so blessed for parents who have faithfully supported me all this time.
We've waited a long time for this and tomorrow, it's their turn to come for a landing in Haiti.
Just the thought of spotting them across the crowd and watching the expressions on their faces in the many things we will experience over the next week leaves me pinching myself in disbelief.
I can't wait to show them my world. To introduce them face to face to the people who they have come to love from afar. To show them the places that have defined my time here on this island.
In my mind, it's as if this whole journey I'm on is a puzzle, and such a crucial piece will finally be put in place as they arrive. Haiti, meet the parents.