It was a two hour drive from home to the airport. The Alaska Airlines counter wasn't open when we got there.  I was so anxious.  I wasn't sure if my bags would pass the height and weight limits to allow me to take one wheeled bag as carry-on plus my backpack AND a big tote that I was calling a shoulder bag. It was expensive to take three bags, but I had pared down and pared down to what felt like only necessities. Think about it: you are traveling to a place with an extreme climate, and you will be there for 3 months. You will need to eat, sleep, and work. You need clothes for sleeping, socializing, and working, and you need toiletries, your favorite tea, heavy duty boots, a really warm coat, slippers, and vitamins. There isn't a big store in Barrow, so if you don't pack it, you are pretty much out of luck until someone can ship it to you, which is expensive and slow since everything has to come by air.
My bags were measured and passed, I was allowed my carry-ons, and we walked to the security area.  It was like waiting to get taken into the operating room. We chatted a little, made some lame jokes, and waited.  I finally told them to go ahead and leave. Yes, I was sure; it was growing more painful by the moment and I just wanted to have the goodbyes done so I could regroup and get past it.
We hugged, the daughter and I, teary but determined to not cry. Offering stupid platitudes. "I'll be back before you know it!'
The husband and I hugged, conflicted jumbles of regret, sadness, loss, relief, fear...
They walked away, and I shuffled forward to stand in line at the security check point.
So much had changed from when I had last flown. They were making everyone take off their shoes.  I was wearing knee high, heavy soled, warm suede boots because I would be in the Arctic Circle tomorrow. I had to struggle out of my boots, and then jockey my heavy coat, full (laptop included) backpack, wheeled luggage and large shoulder tote forward a few steps each time the line moved forward. I had to take my laptop out of my back pack when my turn came.  I was wearing a small deerskin medicine pouch around my neck, tucked inside my shirt. The TSA guy made me pull it out and wanted to know what it was. What's inside it? It was finally determined that I was not a security threat and I clumsily gathered my laptop and boots and other gear and stepped off to the side to put myself back together.
And then, almost before I knew it, I was settled in the plane, and then in the air; Seattle bound.