At the side of my bed on the top shelf of the beside bookshelf (which designates it from the rather large number of other bookshelves in the house) there are a series of three photo frames supported by the Bibles I have kept collecting as family passes on and the books I consider "really important". Two of them are handmade frames made for me to celebrate Father's Day or a birthday long ago.
The third is store purchased metal frame with a picture in it.
The picture is dated three days after the birth of Nighean Gheal and may very well represent the first full day she was home. In the picture I am asleep in the bed with her in my left arm with her pink cap on. Sasha The Good Cat is resting on me as she always did when the opportunity of a sitting or sleeping person presented themselves. The picture remains one of my favorites of all the pictures that we have taken over the years, the one I tend to trot out on birthday posts and "look how far you have come" moments.
I think of that picture a lot on Saturday as we drive Nighean Gheal to the airport.
This was not the first leaving of course; she has left for college multiple years on trips where we would not see her during the usual holidays. But this was The Leaving, the moving to The Big City to start her first official post-college adult full time job.
She had been packing over the course of the last week, trying to decide what to take with her and what to pack in her closet (her room is being "repurposed" to some extent in her absence, usually the greatest sign that someone is truly leaving). The suitcase in the back of the car is likely well over the 50 lbs. no-cost limit and her other bag and carry on were full as well. She was fortunate in that she had been living a somewhat nomadic life for some years now, and that house goods were already at her new apartment. She needs only bring her things.
She and The Ravishing Mrs. TB chat away as we drive down in the dark pre-morning dawn; both are leaving in separate directions from the airport and conversation is about their respective upcoming trips. There is little enough to say from me: driving in the pre-dawn dark is stressful enough, let alone picturing what sorts of traffic adventures might be waiting at the airport.
And what would one say, if one were to say anything? How does one address what is in some meaningful way the closing of one door and the opening of another? If we are fortunate we will hear something of her life but I am realistic as well: she will be busy with work and having adventures in The Big City. I suspect most of the communication will come via the posting short pictures and videos that permeate social media. This seems to be the way the modern world communicates anymore, in pictures and images instead of words.
We will see her this month for TB The Elder's funeral, and then likely for Christmas - but even then these will not be the same. She will truly be a visitor, coming in for a short period and jetting back to her real life.
Which is no longer here.
The airport is not quite as busy as it could have been but busy enough; the practice of dodging in and out of parked cars and trying to avoid people making their way through traffic always unnerves me. I managed to find a parking spot; like everything with dropping off at the terminal, you only have a few minutes at best. It is both a blessing and curse: in both cases the limited time make a thing very easy and very difficult.
I heft the bags out (that suitcase was definitely more than 50 lbs.), and put them on the sidewalk. I feel the pressure of having a parked car there and having to make my way back out; she and The Ravishing Mrs. TB the pressure of getting everything in and to the counter. The goodbye is a quick hug and "See you in three weeks" and off they go.
Almost thankfully I have to actively plot my track through the remaining cars back onto the loop that leads to the main road. By the time I give not hitting someone a thought, I am already well on my way.
There is something painfully wistful as I drive home, something that I cannot fully define as I make my way back. Like most life changes, the thing has been a long time coming yet happened literally in the space of thirty seconds: she was in the car with her things, and then she was gone, gone in a way that the young birds take the last flight from the nest go and the observer watches quixotically, knowing in their heart that this was the final flight yet somehow thinking that they will return.
The young birds never come back from that last flight of course. They are off to make nests of their own.
Happy to see her moving on to the next adult level, but sad the little girl is leaving the building for good. Old photos and memories of them are all you have. Hopefully (but not too soon), you hear she 'met someone', a person you will come to regard as family too.
ReplyDeleteThis is Life as we know it.
This is indeed the way.
DeleteOn the "Bright" side (I guess), she has already "met someone" who she will be seeing much more of in The Big City. Very nice young man.
With another offspring leaving, the Nest is a little bit quieter. Another adjustment to make, good luck TB.
ReplyDeleteNylon, there is a lot of adjusting coming up in the next 12 months. In some ways this will be as tumultuous or more so than when we made the change from not having children to having them.
DeleteYour comment to Nylon12 is prescient. The empty nest is indeed a seminal change. I hated those drives home alone. It seemed the fabric of life tore away a little each time. Odd, how at the time, I couldn't see the pattern shaping up. Now, after the events are all dusty, i can see it clearly.
ReplyDeleteIt's a weird place when your responsibilities begin to go away. When those you cared for and supported move on to support themselves. My life was defined by that for so long, the loss of it was quite jarring. I imagine that you are in a better position for that than I was. You are much more adept at planning and preparing.
STxAR, it is funny, but I understand exactly what you are saying. The shape of things is dim at first, and yet somehow I still remain surprised when it comes to fruition.
DeleteThe responsibilities aspect is something I had not considered until now - but it is entirely true. At some point - really this point going forward - I am voice, nothing more. Hopefully an influential voice, but still only a voice.
May God watch over her and bless her, TB.
ReplyDeleteYou all be safe and God bless.
Appreciated Linda. As with I am sure most parents, we inevitably feel they need all the help they can get.
DeleteMy parents always encouraged me to move to some exotic location so they could come and visit but rarely did. I suppose central Minnesota, the farthest I got, wasn't exotic enough.
ReplyDeleteI still remember the first apartment I moved to after college and how lonely it seemed at first. But after the first day of work was over, it became a refuge and I would be lying if I said I didn't miss it now and then. My refuge now requires a lot of spare time to maintain it. The apartment required almost nothing giving me plenty of time to do other things.
Ed, I do not know that I was ever conscious about moving other than going to college - I went back home for another year and a half after my initial first semester, came home at summer, and then stayed an additional year after graduation.
DeleteThe amount of time the refuge takes is indeed staggering - that said, it bears its own advantages as well. Like generally not hearing my neighbors, for one.
I disagree with the statement by Anonymous, "Old photos and memories of them are all you have." It is a new chapter and yes, it stings and hurts in ways you never imagined it would, but she is as much a part of you as ever, as you (and Mrs. TB) are still part of her. I have done this three times and I acknowledge all the feelings and emotions you have described. Yet I would not have had it playing out in any other way, nor do I believe you would. Because of the excellent (not perfect) way you and Mrs. TB raised this daughter, she has the confidence to do what she is doing. But rest assured her heart is never too full that there is no room for you in it. (Well done, Dad.)
ReplyDeleteIt is true Bob, that this is ultimately the way we wanted things to work out - after all, we raise them to be independent, so we should hope that they become so. At the same time, the relationship changes (it already has, of course). In that sense, the memories and photos of that relationship are what remains (it is not likely I will be getting handmade artwork in the future, for example).
DeleteThanks for the "good job". Sometimes we get so wrapped up in the present that we do not see the full spectrum.
It's one of those transitions a parent knows is coming, but is never truly prepared for.
ReplyDeleteLeigh, you are precisely right. I knew this day was coming - knew it for at least a year, knew the specifics of the flight for 5 months. Yet somehow, I am still caught flat footed.
DeleteSo many good comments here already, TB. I'll just offer an understanding hug. And echo Bob: "Well done, Dad!" And well done, Nighean Gheal!
ReplyDeleteThank you Becki! We have heard from her and she is moved in and doing well. She is meeting up with my cousin later in the week, which is nice as she will have family in the (larger) neighborhood.
Delete