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The Man's flight was only one hour late. We checked with the airport before heading out. I drove, avoiding the highway. It was an easy, smooth ride.

The Boy and I each brought a long-stem rose - The Boy's in white with a red ribbon, mine in red with a white ribbon. The Boy didn't want to hold his rose in public, except when I had to use the washroom. Then he held both flowers, pressing himself against the wall, trying to be invisible. So I went to the washroom often.

We stood in the crowded waiting room, watching passengers come through the ramp. I said to The Boy, "I wonder if we should have tied a giant yellow ribbon around the tree."

"Why? What's the significance of that?"

"You know, from the song, Tie A Yellow Ribbon Around The Old Oak Tree."

"I know of the song. What are the lyrics?"

So I sang him the song, humming through the parts where I've forgotten the words. The Boy inched away from me. But I moved towards him with each step, keeping him close to my song. Finally, he said, "Stop mom. You're so embarrassing."

Then I saw The Man. "There he is," I said to The Boy.

Quick as a flash, we moved into position. We placed ourselves against a pillar directly in The Man's path. We leaned into it, each with a bent knee, then we turned away, trying to look nonchallant, so that he could happen to bump into us. But The Man walked past, looking through the crowd for us. As he walked away, we chased after him.

"Help you with your luggage, mister?" I said when I got behind him.

He looked good, not even tired. It felt like I could have seen him last just yesterday. I blessed telephone technology and the internet. We did a group hug.

We got to the parking lot. He said, "I'll drive." And just like that, The Man resumed his place in our lives.