Sure, there were times I saw in my mother’s eyes a misty look of love and longing as I said good-bye and there were many hearty handshakes and hugs from others as I walked out the door on my way to Mexico or Morocco, west to the Canadian Rockies or east to the Atlantic coast or a half-dozen other places over the years; finally south to the States. Not without emotion I, too, felt a heart-tug in those moments but I left anyway, determined to make my way, to conquer the next challenge or find the greener grass; always with the intention of slaying dragons yet often tilting at windmills.
Such is the nature of leaving and I know much about it. Now, however, the tables have turned and I know about being left behind. It’s a new thing and I’m unsure of it.
Our son Jake and his family have just left on a long-distance move and in the moment that he and I hugged in his driveway - for the last time in who knows how long - all the moments of my leaving came crashing down in a rush of emotion that I did not expect. And as he and his family drove away Kris and I held hands and I thought back to all the times that I was the one looking in the rear-view mirror. I wished them farewell with a wave, a tear in my eye and a new fracture in my heart that now needs healing.