The Line Keeps Moving

I dislike two things: cod liver oil and goodbyes. Both cause me a gag-reflex. As an adult, I can say 'no' to cod liver oil but I cannot escape the goodbyes. Goodbyes are difficult because they signal control loss and with it comes uncertainty. I remember those years when my wife and I would 'tuck' the children into bed and feel the comfort knowing they were safe and secure. Slowly the children expanded their geographical and social boundaries; feelings of security-comfort dissipated.

I ignored signs of change. I sent my 15-year-old son to his room. He crawled out a window to go play basketball. My middle school daughters fuss with one another over a bra and my wife struggles to resolve the issue as I cope with the thought of pimply-face boys ogling my girls.

Each time we left our child on a college campus it produced a terrible goodbye; I was sure that I had swallowed a knife. Oh, well meaning friends sent those cute cards, which spoke of 'letting go and it will return,' blah, blah, blah; hell bells, who is going to watch my kids?!

There was two goodbyes that held a 'bitter-sweetness.' The first occurred some nineteen years ago when my wife and I kept the vigil at Barnes Jewish Hospital (St. Louis) where my father spent his last moments succumbing to a compromised-weakened heart. Modern medicines and his fighting will had teamed to win that battle for some twenty-one years but this time the odds were simply too great. Just last year, December 21, I sat at my mother's bedside as she let go of her marvelous ninety-three year journey. I kept two vigils and said my goodbyes to the two people who gave me life; a life they watched-over so lovingly.

Keep the line moving.