It's Hard to Say Goodbye

I have spent a lot of my life in a car, usually driving away from people I care very deeply about. I remember it most in the trips between St. Louis and Bowling Green. We would pile in the car after my dad got home from work and drive five hours "home" to St. Louis. We would spend time with my grandma and other family members. Sunday would find us back in the car headed back to Bowling Green.

Every few weeks we repeated this pattern. At some point, my mind began to see us as leaving for St. Louis and returning "home" to Bowling Green. We always went back to see family. It was the people we loved and longed for, not the place. Stores and streets that were familiar to my parents, and discussed frequently in reminiscences, were strange to me. But I knew the people.

Eventually, even the people became strangers to me. Time and distance eroded the bonds of affection that held us together. Cousins who were like siblings have become strangers. Many of those I loved so dearly have passed away.

For years the overwhelming sense of loss kept me developing relationships. I knew in time, I would pile in a car and drive away. Maybe the roads I traveled would bring me back again, but maybe they wouldn't. And I knew that if they did, it may be that the people I met were different people, even as I had become different through the journey.

For years, I resented having to go back to St. Louis. Not all of my memories are happy ones. But after I became a father, I started to realize why my parents took us back. The interaction with family gave us a sense of identity, a sense of continuity. I reminded us that no matter where we went in the world, we had family waiting at home.

I'm trying to give my little girl the same sense of identity, that same sense of family. I know when we go to see family there will be laughter and hugs and memories, but there will also be tears. I have never driven away from someone I loved without my heart breaking a little. The act of saying goodbye leaves me enveloped by a cloud of sadness. So I'm never surprised when Sophia cries after we leave a loved ones house.

I have learned that her tearful sobs accurately express the words I cannot say. I have learned that love is worth the risk of losing. I think there is some truth to that old saying: it is better to loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. So I'll keep piling in cars and driving to see the people I love, even though I dread the long, sad road home.