Arrivals and departures
There I go again
If listening works best, I offer an audio recording here. ⤵️
I always tell myself I’m not going to cry, but I always cry. It is the ritual of this departure.
Every exchange takes on a certain kind of importance. When I realize we’ve run out of time for this or that plan, when our comfortable patterns dwindle down to just a couple more sleeps, and melancholy stops by several times a day, even though I keep telling her she’s too early, I tell myself I’m not going to cry. But I always cry when they leave.
After we’ve pulled apart the boxes of books held in limbo since reading was a shared activity, untangled the costume jewelry from the one gold necklace that’s worth saving, discarded the body care products pregnant with fragrance left languishing at the back of the bathroom cabinet, rifled through belongings still in storage since the earliest departures, the ones from when they had barely fledged, after we’ve had most of the conversations, but not all the conversations, because we never get have them all, after we’ve managed the logistics, and I say 'we' just to honor the habit, because the truth is they've long since learned to manage without me, and made the meals, and enjoyed the party, and played the music, and filled the bird feeder, and packed the bags, and stuffed the belongings into the trunk of the car, and tucked all that tenderness into the empty places inside, and headed back out the door again one more time, I always cry.
I’m not sad that my routines will go back to normal. I’m not sad that my children are fully capable beings, living full lives in beautiful places with beautiful partners. I’m not pining for a life that no longer exists. I’m remembering, once again, what it feels like when your heart splits open and stars, bright-shining and brilliant, spill out across the land.
~Elizabeth
Most of us have stood in a departure lane or a driveway watching someone we love head back out into the world, feeling all the feelings. For me, it’s a rich mix of gratitude and reluctance, and I know that makes me a very lucky mom. Never mind that this particular parting involved one Metro, two airports, two cars, one of them threatening to overheat, and roughly 250 pounds of luggage.
What’s the ritual of departure in your family, the thing that always happens, whether you plan it or not?
Is there someone in your life whose leaving hits you differently than others, and do you know why?
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See you next week.