I’ve always found a unique serenity in choosing midday flights. Unlike the bustling mornings or the weary evenings, airports during these hours whisper tales of transient calm. This time, the terminal, usually a stage for the hurried footsteps of countless travelers, offered a rare pause in its daily rhythm. Such moments of tranquility amidst the chaos of departures and arrivals are fleeting, yet profoundly appreciated.

However, adhering to the conventional wisdom of arriving two hours early for a domestic flight often seems excessive. Today, just ten minutes sufficed to navigate through check-in and security, even with a suitcase that needed checking-in. The efficiency was a welcome surprise, especially considering my departure from the newly renovated B gates. This change significantly shortened my walk, a small yet significant mercy for someone who, out of convenience or necessity, checks their luggage.

The renovation, aside from logistical benefits, hinted at a broader theme of travel: the blend of wonder and ordeal. For many, including myself, the journey to the gate is the least appealing part of travel. Yet, it’s an integral step in the dance of departure and arrival, a necessary prelude to the adventures that await.

On this occasion, my luggage carried more than just essentials. It bore fragments of my sister Jackie’s life—items destined for my daughter, granddaughter, and sister Anne. In sifting through Jackie’s belongings, we distributed much to charity, but some pieces were too imbued with memories, too rich in sentimental value, to part with. They represented not just personal history, but a tangible connection to Jackie, a way to keep her spirit alive in our daily lives.

I sit and watch passengers walk past the cafe bar where I type and wonder about my own possessions: the artifacts of travels and life events that compose the mosaic of my existence. From the shawl I picked up in Ireland to the earrings from Barbados, each item carries a story, a piece of a place, or a moment shared with loved ones. These are not mere objects but the threads from which the tapestry of my life is woven, each adding colour, texture, and depth to my personal narrative.

I ponder the future of these threads, the fate of these tangible memories when I am no longer here to hold them. Will they serve as cherished reminders for my loved ones, or will they become burdensome relics of a past no longer connected to the present?

In my carry-on, two bags of jewellery—one for Anne and one for my daughter in Vancouver—serve as a testament to these reflections. They are heavy, laden not just with their physical weight but with the emotional gravity of the memories they represent.

As I navigate through the quietude of the airport, I am reminded that our journeys, both literal and metaphorical, are interwoven with the lives of those we touch. What we carry, what we leave behind, and the memories we cherish are part of a larger narrative. It’s a narrative that transcends the individual, connecting us through the shared experience of love, loss, and the enduring question of legacy.

Who will treasure the memory of us? It’s a poignant question that echoes in the silent corridors of my midday flight, a reminder of the indelible marks we leave on the hearts and lives of those we love.