Engulfed within an eerie state of calm and filled with countless dissimilar emotions, I dulled my surroundings and kept to myself. The flight from Miami to Havana was short and uneventful. “Because I know you are finally going to find the answers you’ve always needed,” she said. “Well then, why are you crying?” I asked. “I am not crying because you are leaving,” she responded. “Please don’t cry,” I said, “I will only be gone a week.” She stared at me in silence and mustered a feigned smile as tears swelled from her sad green eyes onto her cheeks. Careful not to show any unintended emotions that might cause her distress, I raised the wall I often use to mask my feelings and gently assured her, “Baby, don’t worry about me. Once we reached the queue for TSA security, it was time for us to say goodbye. We walked in silence-our emotions expressed only by the tight grasp of our hands. I could not totally open myself to the raw emotions I was certain to face during my journey of self-discovery if I simultaneously felt the need to shelter her from my pain. Some young boy or girl was about to be very happy once he cleared Cuban Customs later this morning.Īfter checking in the one small bag I was bringing, my wife, Pam, and I headed toward the TSA security checkpoint knowing full well that once we got there I would be continuing on my journey alone. A grandfatherly looking man, traveling alone, was carrying a rather large and cuddly teddy bear. They were bringing much needed clothing, daily necessities, medicines, and appliances not found in Cuba today for their loved ones back home. Some were even taking small air conditioners, undercounter refrigerators, and television sets as well. Most passengers in line were carrying inordinate quantities of suitcases and assorted bags with them. There was hope and wonder around me that morning everywhere I looked, people were smiling. I settled at the rear of the line and waited for my turn to check in with the airline official. Fifty-six years after leaving Cuba, I was returning to the land of my birth in search of my childhood memories. Most were Cuban Americans returning home to visit family members others were simply going there for a good time. Barely four o’clock in the morning, dozens of passengers were already in line for processing at the American Airlines check-in counter. On May 16, 2016, I arrived at Miami International Airport looking to board the early flight to Havana.
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