My Mom was the first one I called before a departer or after landing. It doesn’t matter if we were in the same time zone or not. She was always near the phone, always to give me that feeling of warmth and protection.
I like the airport’s vibe, especially in the morning when people were rushing through security and then with a slower pace through the gates. They seem happy and concerned at the same time. Travelling, in most cases, means vacation, the best time of the year.
But Rinas airport (I continue to call it that) has a special part in my heart. It was the first one I saw when I was still in kinder garden, going with my dad waiting for my aunt to come back from abroad. I still remember that small road called “kthesa e rinasit” . The first impression was like you are going on a country trip, especially in summertime, but then out of nowhere you see the airport. The small and warm airport with only one plane on the tarmac (usually a Tarom 😊) and one or two small cars in the parking lot. I still remember the coffee shop with that wonderful smell, a combination of espressos and sweet cookies. Even today I love the smell of fresh roasted coffee. That is one of my favorite smells, besides the smell of the ocean and mimosas. I remember my dad was having an espresso with one of his friends and me eating cookies so slowly like I was afraid I would finish them 😊 Then I was running around in and out of the coffee shop. I was free like a bird.
The second time in Rinas I was with my mom. I was five and a half years old. My dad was coming back from a business trip abroad. I was so happy because I knew my dad was bringing me some special gifts. I remember my mom being so protective and concerned. She watched me every second. Don’t run, don’t sweat, don’t speak with a loud voice, don’t eat too many cookies. Finally, my dad arrived and I was free from all her advice 😊. I hugged my dad and he whispered in my ear. I brought you toys and a big chocolate. I told him to give me the chocolate first. Since I was a kid, I have been a chocolate lover. The chocolate bar was so big wrapped in red paper. I was ready to open it, but my mom jumped first. Your hands are not clean. Let me give you a small piece and you will eat the rest of it at home. I was so upset and ready to cry but my dad distracted me with a watch (toy). And I was happy again.
But my mom was right as always. Her job was to protect me first and make me happy second. But can we have both at the same time? Maybe the happiness will kill the germs 😊. Who knows. I wish I could ask my mom that question. I am sure she is smiling from above and will answer in my dreams…Miss you mom.
My Mom - the teacher
I have so many wonderful memories with my mom, so many stories to tell, so many places we have been in both continents. Maybe one day I will write a book about them.
My mom touched the life of so many people. She had a wonderful heart and helped not only her family, but relatives, friends, neighbors, her students (my mom was a teacher for over 30 years). My mom did "good" not because she thought she will be rewarded one day. She did “good” because she felt it. With that wonderful heart I thought mom would have lived over 100. But her heart was weak. As they say: no good deed go unpunished.
One particular story had on impact on me.
It was a winter rainy day, stormy. My mom was teaching on 4th grade. Her class was a mix students of middle class, working class, and poor. Mom was going on every desk and checking the student’s homework. She stopped by one of the desks and saw a student that was shaking. What’s wrong – mom asked the student. He said he was cold. At that moment mom noticed that his school uniform was wet. Mom asked him to take of the uniform and to go near the stove at the front of the class. She offered him her chair so he could sit near the stove and gets warm and dry out. But the student refused to take off the uniform. As mom told me later, he had nothing underneath, no sweater, no t-shirt. Mom felt so sorry for the poor kid. As he was drying his uniform near the stove, mom asked other students who were living near the school to go home and ask their parents if they have old spare clothes. They barely brough back two old sweaters but it was better than nothing. I remember mom coming home that day and she was very sad. That night she stayed up late and made a huge package of old clothes that me and my brother weren’t using anymore and gave to the poor student. And every day mom was asking him if he had eaten that day and was giving him food.
Many years later, me and my mom were walking on Kavaja street, in Tirana (for me, the best street in the world) and a car stopped near us. A tall guy came out of the car and told mom: “Zysh(teacher) Frosina, is that you? He hugged mom, told his name and he said to me:
”You are so lucky for having such a wonderful mother”
I asked mom do you remember him. Was that poor kid? Mom said: no, he was just another student of mine...
