Jesse and I shared a few beers at the Red Carpet Club at LAX last night, then he got on his flight toward Hanoi, and I got on my flight to San Francisco. I really enjoyed myself, but must admit saying goodbye was tough.
My kids are all adventurers. Seems that each year, one or more of them is embarking on an adventure of some sort to one corner of the world or another. I love that about my children – that they are so confident and adventurous, that they embrace learning and becoming, that they face the whole world with a smiling spirit and outstretched arms.
Whenever each of them leaves on an adventure of one sort or another, the father in me always worries – how can I not? I always mourn just a little for my loss as they venture away from me. Most of all, the pride inside of me always overflows at the adventure they’re becoming, and the way they embrace life.
But this one’s a little different for me. Seems that each of these emotions I’ve come to expect is particularly amplified this time. Maybe it’s the combination of distance and time – a year’s a very long time! But fortunately, all the emotions are amplified, so with the greater worry and loss comes even greater excitement and pride.
I watched him walk away down the concourse toward his gate. Such a strong and confident man, showing little fear as he approaches the portal to the next him. I suppose I’ll carry that image with me for a long time – the image of him reaching the end of the concourse, and turning that corner out of my sight.
I must confess that one of the “amplifiers†this time is news we just received last week from some dear friends of many decades. They recently lost their son, who was not much older than Jesse. Of course, all across the world – every hour of every day – folks are leaving this life and moving on. But when it’s someone you know, and have known for so many years, who loses a grown child, it opens a dark and fearful place inside your soul. I think it’s natural to want to cling just a little more tightly to your own kids – to hug them a little closer – to worry just a little more.
So the image of Jesse turning the corner will stay with me, and I’ll worry just a little more than I usually do (though my kids would say that’s not possible…) The loss I feel already at having him so far away from me is strong and probably won’t get any better soon. But I’ll focus more keenly on the adventure he’s having, and I’ll look forward to emails and skype time.
And when I finally see him again, I’ve no doubt I’ll feel an amplified sense of wholeness when I hug him and feel he’s safe and close.
