Dad did not mind my hot, sweaty hug this morning. Mom said, "Goodbye, 117 Lone Yew Road," as she hugged Bentley in her arms before setting him down to climb into the car and zoom away to join the lemmings headed north on interstate 5. We pensively stood on the porch, with the smell of Japanese exhaust in the air and the humidity of imminent rain, wondering about the future as the buzzing motor faded away.
The impact of Donna's reflective comment made me think the significance of events that daily swirl around us are often beyond our perception, no matter how much we strain to see them, until a salient comment or epiphany sucks out our breath.
Of course I know I am leaving my home; of course I know that means "goodbye," but it somehow has more significance when one of your parents says "goodbye."
And when your son asks a few minutes later, "Papa: Nana? Papa: Grampa?" and I tell him they are going to Canada. Which he absorbs as best he can. He just learned, "home" and he cannot possibly understand there are other degrees of home, like grandparents' home, our coming new home, even former homes in Canada and Ethiopia. Bentley's quiet query emphasizes our responsibility to make him always feel at home. The parents' role to protect their children, even when you can't, made sentimentally sad by its hopelessness.
Today is June 4; we leave on June 23. Less than three weeks to the end of Transition Phase 1: Leaving.