Goodbyes

            I was saying good bye, and in a life that spanned over 60 years, it still wasn’t easy. I was saying good-bye to my son, Robert. It was the beginning of Summer and he was about to embark on another seven weeks of sailing, hiking, mountaineering, eating and study.

    Most people I know remember the “hello’s” the first meetings, the initial contact with friend and foe. But for me, my remembrance revolve around my good-byes, and to this day, and including this one for my 10 year old son, the ache was no different.

            My first ache was to watch my mother in tears as she put me on a train at a sooty London station called Paddington, after which the bear was named.  My mother held me, agonizing over sending her three year old son to a distant environment, yet knowing that I would be safe and secure away from Hitler’s bombs. I was dry-eyed.  This was part of life. You were born, wars started, you were sent to safety, what was the problem?

      But as the train pulled out, the warden in charge of me, held me to the open window and I watched my mother recede down the platform as the train gathered speed on it's way to Wales.

       Only when the warden pulled me into the carriage, did I start to cry. When I could no longer see my mother, I realized I was leaving her and would miss her so.

         In 1954, I enlisted in the British Army, and my mother saw me off at another grimy London station, and much to my embarrassment, she was only one of three of the hundreds of young men leaving for boot camp. There were no tears this time, just a hug, a whisper in my ear that she loved me, and she was gone. But my tears were there, held back until I could retire to the trains bathroom.

            In 1960, I left for America. My mother, now wise to the distress of parting. She decided to say goodbye in the familiar and comfortable surroundings of her kitchen. But where was my father? He was working, unable to get time off to say goodbye to his son.  I had to go, a ship was waiting to take me to the New World.

            I asked my Mom if Dad would be very upset at not being here to wish me well. I didn’t realize then that wives are married to husbands, not to fathers.

            At Southampton, I made a hurried call to my father’s company. His familiar gruff voice said “Hello.” and I knew I my heart was already in trouble. I began to tell him, in what I thought would be a normal part of conversations, how sorry I was that I missed him.    

         The words covered all those goodbyes when my father was not there. The whole parade of unfullfilled farewells came rushing down and I found myself telling my father, for the first time, how much I loved him. He assured of his care and affectionately gently pushing me out on my own at the very moment we seemed to have found each other. It began a bond that lasted well after he departed this earth.

            When my first marriage ended, the tears were there, unlabored and unforced. But my parents were not there, and I wept alone.

            Now my son was only going to be gone for seven weeks. But after three wonderful daughters, he was special in my heart and I missed him, even when he simply disappeared around the corner to play with a neighbor’s son.

            We held each other, his little form enfolded in my large arms, my head above his, hoping my wet eyes would not fall on his small head. His small hand started to pat my back.

            “It’s OK Dad, I love you and I will see you on visiting day.” he said so matter of fact. I wanted to tell him I couldn’t wait that long, that he should come home with me now and we can do all the things together that he would do at camp. But of course, we would not, we could not, and I said “Yes, I know.”

        We held a little longer then he was gone, into his cabin to claim the top bunk before anyone else could. 

           Two counselors approached me. They told me I had a remarkable boy there.

            “You know,” said one, “if there is any trouble, or conflict or discord in the cabin, Robert is the first boy I go to.”

          I looked at him, querying the next sentence.

            “I know that Robert will tell me the truth. I know that he will be honest, fair and just in his interpretation of what went on. You and Linda have done a good job.”

            Good job? Yes, I suppose so. I have always tried to teach all my children that character goals are more important than personality targets and that ideals are above ideas.I thanked the counselors, and we parted -- with no tears!

           I walked away from the cabin, and I heard my son call out.  “Dad.” he said, “wait.”

         I walked back and he hugged me again.

            “Hello’s are better than goodbyes.” he said.

I was going  to have to switch my priorities.