Write about running away from someone or something

"Boarding flight 298, section one," the announcer's voice is a piercing blade to my heart. It makes me realize that this is not a dream. That I really am at the airport, standing next to my son.
I've dreamed about this moment many times. It usually comes across as a nightmare. Something I didn't look forward to, but knew was coming. It's not that I want him to stay home and never leave the nest, because I know he's an adult, but instead of seeing the eighteen year old young man I have raised, I still see the four year old who ran to me for kisses on his boo boos. The six year old who asked me for help with reading his papers and tying his shoes. The ten year old who secretly came to me for reassurance when he'd had a bad dream. The twelve year old with braces who cried behind the bedroom door because someone had bullied him at school. But those years are gone, replaced by my tall, strong, and handsome son, who now looks down at me instead of up. 
His voice is confident as he speaks with the attendant who runs the ticket counter. She blushes as he smiles.
I look away and ask myself the same questions that have been running through my head for the last couple days.
Did I pack him an extra pair of socks? Does he have enough white shirts? Will he be okay without me? Have I prepared him to live on his own? How will he survive the heat? Humidity? Learning a different language? Will he have good companionships? Enough food to eat?
"Have a great flight." The attendant's voice pulls me back to the present.
The luggage is gone, taken away by the moving track that circles around to grab more. I stare at it, wondering how many people have stood in my shoes and wondered where the time has gone.
It can't be time. I refuse to accept the fact that in a few steps, the last minutes of my borrowed time will be over. That I'll have to say goodbye.
"It's okay to cry." My son's face comes into view. We've made it to the end of the security line. "I'd be insulted if you didn't."
"Because if I cry, you know I love you?" I ask as I stare up at him. His brown hair is parted, compatible with the dark grey suit he is wearing. All grown up. And he looks the part.
It's time to let go. But why am I finding it so hard? I've raised him for this. Prepared him to be on his own from the time he could walk. Taught him as many life lessons as possible from the safety of our home. It's time for him to spread his wings and fly. He's no longer mine to guide.
He answers with a hug. "I love you, mom. I promise to write." He pauses and I wonder if he's collecting himself, holding back his own emotions. "It's only two years."
When he pulls back, tears hang on his lashes. "Two years." I echo.
I wish I had some amazing words of advice. Something strong enough to get him through the rough patches of his mission. But all I have are emotions. So strong they threaten to overthrow all rational and fall to my knees and beg him to stay. But I can't do that. That would be selfish. Insulting to him and his choices. I must support him. Support him in this decision. It's what I've been preparing him for for the last eighteen years. An opportunity to serve the Lord's children through humble service, and declaring the glad tidings that the fullness of the gospel has been restored to the earth, and that all mankind may be saved through the atonement of Jesus Christ.
He takes a step away. My heart go with him. I memorize his face. His features. I know he will change by the time I see him again, so I want to remember every detail in this moment.
The line carries him away. Soon, he stands at the edge of the elevator, a hand in the air. A final farewell. I mirror his gesture before I bring my hands to my lips and send him one last goodbye.
As he disappears around a corner. My heart crumbles. I can't hold in the emotions any longer. My strength is spent. My heart is gutted out. No longer inside my own chest. I turn and run away. Away from the pain. Away from the prying eyes. Away from reality.