Shhhh!!

All has fallen quiet in our neighborhood.  Everything is dark.  There is no longer anything to observe.  The excitement has significantly dwindled away.

The city airport closed last night at 11.59pm.  The radar was switched off.  The runway lights dimmed.  The search light snuffed out.  The jetways closed for one final time.

It was a sad day for us today, having no airplanes zoom past our windows.  Clark cried in the car on the way to church as he realized there would be no more identifying airlines, aircrafts or flight timings.  We can no longer 'wave goodbye' to Daddy when he flies away from us on a business trip.  We can no longer watch our friends' flights land and then scurry off on the 10-minute drive to the airport to collect them and their luggage and bring them home.

Tonight the eight giant spotlights that lit the tarmac have been extinguished.  Those eight giant spotlights lit not only the tarmac, but also our entire building.  The darkness is odd, eerie, depressing.  The fog and unexpected heavy rain that has descended upon us reflects the tears and somber attitude that we hold in our hearts as we mourn the loss of our friend, the local airport.

The new, modern, faraway airport is now open.  We have yet to make our first long journey out to its pristine ramps, its modern shopping, its dozens of check-in counters, its thousands of parking spaces.  The two-hour one-way drive seems overwhelmingly daunting when we compare it to what we've known in the past.  We're sure we'll get used to it.  We're sure we'll appreciate the state-of-the-art facilities that await us.  

But for now we are sad.  For now, we mourn.  For now, like the rain lashing our windows, we weep over the loss of a sense of comfort and familiarity.

Goodbye beloved airport.  Farewell.

~lk