March 19: "Motel Parking Lot," Goodbyes, Past or Future

Billy Collins says goodbye . . . 

Motel Parking Lot

by:  Billy Collins

Saying goodbye is so sad,

I don't even bother

to turn around to see

what it was you just threw at me.

I'm not good at goodbyes, either.  Collins is making a poetic joke.  I'm not.  Goodbyes involve change, something coming to an end.  I've never dealt well with change.  Yet, change is inevitable.  Life isn't static.  It's all about momentum.  No matter how fast you run away from it, change will catch up with you.

My son is learning how to drive.  My daughter and her significant other are moving to another town next week.  Those two statements might not seem like such a big deal, but they are huge to me.  I know that being a parent is about teaching my kids not to need me.  If I do my job well, they will be independent and resourceful.

I grew up in a very tight-knit family.  We worked together at the family plumbing business.  Went camping together in the summer.  Sat down every night for dinner together.  The key word here is "together."  For my whole life, I've known that I was loved.  It's one of the things I cherish most about my upbringing.

And I've tried to pass that same feeling down to my children.  No matter where they are, who they're with, what they're doing, my daughter and son will always be two of the greatest loves of my life.  I can't imagine a world without them.

My father and mother lived through the losses of two of their children--my brother and sister--in about a year's time.  I watched my dad literally fall apart during my brother's memorial service.  When my sister was dying, I watched my mother sitting beside her, holding her hand, saying over and over, "It's alright, baby.  You're alright.  Don't be afraid.  It's alright."  

As a parent, I don't even want to imagine having to say a goodbye like that.  It's a darkness that I never want to encounter.  Kids grow up, move away, forge new lives.  That's what they're supposed to do.  Fathers and mothers watch from the stadium seats, cheering every fumble or pass or touchdown.  (Sorry for the football analogy.)

One day, sooner than I care to admit, my son will be driving away from me in his own car, and my daughter will be dissecting cadavers in medical school far away.  (Do they still do that?)  My relatives are getting older.  I just realized this past Christmas that I've joined the ranks of the elders at family gatherings.  I see a lot of goodbyes in my future.

But tonight, I'm taking a cue from my puppy, who doesn't fret about the past or future.  She lives in the moment.  Thoughts of the future are beyond her ken.  She will deal with goodbyes when they happen.  No sense worrying about something that hasn't occurred.

Saint Marty's kids are happy and healthy.  His car is working.  He can flush the toilet in his home.  There's food in his fridge.  And not a goodbye in sight.