A month ago, Lynette accused us of â€œslipping away under the cover of night.â€ She was right, that was what we were planning onâ€”in part because we donâ€™t like big to-doâ€™s, and a goodbye party where all our various worlds collide seemd overwhelming. And frankly, I just donâ€™t like goodbyes. Lynette, however, is ridiculously rich in practical wisdom, so instead of moving in the cover of darkness, we planned a series of small goodbyes–dinners, coffees, and cocktails (especially cocktails.)â€”and these allowed us to say our thank yous and farewells.
All of this has left me quite tear-sodden. At one point, Katie K, my favorite neighbor, found me crying in the driveway. Why? Because I had to say goodbye to Seanâ€”the cashier at my local grocery store. I know. It seems silly, but this is how we live. I seek out Seanâ€™s line at the grocery store every week. Over time weâ€™ve bemoaned the agony of first-time home buying (a condo purchased with his partner); made plans for a language learning CD (â€œChinese the Gay Wayâ€); and celebrated his one year sobriety anniversary. This is how weâ€™ve built our life here in Seattleâ€”by bonding with the grocery clerk, making friends with the neighbor, taking in stray boys and stray dogs. So when it comes to leaving, there is reall stuff, real people to leaveâ€”and that is far more difficult than selling a car or packing up a living room.
So I cry–because I wonâ€™t be able to sip chai with Jen, or have knit-and-tonic nights with Katie. I cry because Iâ€™ll no longer share a big old house with a gaggle of roommates. I cry because Iâ€™m ill at ease leaving our newly-legally-adult/quasi-grownup, ( I know Josh and Tonya will have his back, but come on–howâ€™s a boy supposed to survive without unlimited internet and a fridge full of dairy products? ) I cry because Iâ€™m ripping my children out of their darling local elementary school, and prying them out of the arms of their sibling best-friends, Noah and Claire, and schlepping them a world away from Rosie, who Eden met the day before kindergarten and they are friends still yet. Not to mention what Iâ€™m doing my parents, who retired a year ago planning on full-time grandparent duty and are now wondering what they will do with all that time on their hands.
Then again, children adapt, and friendships survive long distance, and teenagers, well, they get â€œleftâ€ all the time at colleges and boarding schools andâ€¦I donâ€™t know, boot camp? (Oh lord, donâ€™t let him sign up for boot camp!) These are not reasons not to go. Ahead of us lies a wonderful adventure. If only I could stop blowing my nose and live into it!
In the midst of all the goodbyeâ€™s came many lovely gifts. The Uber-Family took photos of the four kids one day and presented us with an album the next. Rosieâ€™s family threw a goodbye party for all the schoolyard chums. My folks dedicated many hours of grandchild tending while we sorted and packed. And Lynette helped her sweet Pascal make us bookmarks that say, â€œI will hold your place for you!â€ (This being exactly the kind of sentiment you would expect from a family whoâ€™s liscense plates read YOU MATTER and CONNECT.)
All of these gift are so tender and meaningful. They made us realize that, people like usâ€”and that as much as we are connected to them, they are bonded to us. I really canâ€™t explain how meaningful that is. Everytime I think about it, Iâ€™m back to the cry.
Just before we left, Katie read me a poem. It is one her father knows by heart, and she says the last stanza reminds her of our home. I think her reading this to me, after our storytelling-hours, is one of the nicest thing anyone has ever offered me. In reading me this poem, Katie proclaimed that the life Paul and I had hoped for had actually come true. So, when I cry a little too much, I read this poem. It gives me hope that we can again find our way to that magic place.
And may her bridegroom bring her to a house
Where all’s accustomed, ceremonious;
For arrogance and hatred are the wares
Peddled in the thoroughfares.
How but in custom and in ceremony
Are innocence and beauty born?
Ceremony’s a name for the rich horn,
And custom for the spreading laurel tree.
A Prayer for My Daughter
William Butler Yeats