Tuesday, July 11, 2006
the privilege of difficult goodbyes
There is a tornado watch for New York. A grey heron stands in the rain on Crestwood Lake. I have been trying to finish this post for two days.
I cried in my car in the terminal 3 parking lot at JFK Monday afternoon. Lucas (who will retain his given name here as his nickname was deemed--by him--unsuitable for publishing) and I didn't know what to say to one another after Nostalgia was absorbed into the line of luggaged passengers. We walked back to my car in the heat and he retrieved his bag from my trunk. I was thinking I hate airports.
This rain has cooled my humid office, although all the paper is still curling up like leaves. If I lean forward I can see the dark silvery branches of the copper beech tree that stands between our building and the chapel.
I hate airports because I am worn-out by goodbyes. And the goodbyes have only just begun; life is full of them. But if I have learned anything it is the privilege of loving. That difficult partings are only an indication of the presence of a someone who brings joy into my life. And there is no doubt that Nostalgia has brought much joy and depth into my life. And not mine alone.
My parents taught me long ago that we never truly say goodbye. Not for good.