MY MOTHER LEFT ME BEHIND AT AN AIRPORT WHEN I WAS ONLY EIGHT—WALKING AWAY WITH HER NEW HUSBAND AND HIS CHILDREN WHILE I CLUTCHED A BACKPACK AND A STUFFED BUNNY. WHEN SHE RETURNED, MY BEDROOM WAS EMPTY… AND LEGAL DOCUMENTS WERE WAITING FOR HER.

The most profound shift happened on my tenth birthday. Gordon took me to the airport—not to leave, but to pick up his sister. I stood in the middle of the terminal, the familiar scent of jet fuel threatening to pull me under. My heart began to race.

Gordon felt my hand trembling in his. He stopped, knelt down, and looked me in the eye. “We aren’t at Gate C32, Leah. We’re at arrivals. See that sign? It means people are coming home. And as long as I’m drawing breath, you are never, ever going to be at a departures gate alone again.”

I took a deep breath, the air finally reaching the bottom of my lungs. The airport was just a building. The chairs were just plastic. The power she had over me was a ghost I was finally learning how to haunt back.

But as I grew older, a new question began to surface: would I ever be able to look at the letter that arrived every year on my birthday, postmarked from a place I never wanted to visit?…continue reading …