Goodbyes and Hellos

Yesterday my parents signed the final papers, selling the house I grew up in.  Then they finished packing the moving van and moved back to the family land in Alabama.  They’ll be within walking distance of my sister and various aunts and uncles, but now they’ll be a three-hour drive from me, instead of a three-minute drive.  The house my father designed and built with his own two hands, with my five-year-old handprint in the cement of the foundation, is now owned by someone with no knowledge of or connection to my family.

This would be a deeply introspective (and, no doubt, poignant) post on saying goodbye, if yesterday was not also a day of saying hello:  my son William was released from the NICU and finally came home.  No doubt I will process my goodbyes slowly (and privately) in the weeks and months to come, but for now, everything is burned away by the blazing sun of having my family of four together for the first time:  my sons have finally met each other.

Daniel was waiting at the door when we arrived.  We’d been telling him about his baby brother Will for a couple of months, but we weren’t sure how much his not-quite-two-year-old mind understood.  As I guessed, he immediately started exclaiming “Baby!  Baby!” when he saw William, but what I hadn’t guessed was how gentle and affectionate he would be.  He quickly learned his name was Will (he pronounces it “Eel”), and patted and hugged him repeatedly.

In times of transition like these, one can choose to look to the past or look to the future.  I've chosen the latter.