Er, perhaps, “Chicago, Southwest has Landed!” I can see Midway Airport out the window. The flight was a bit delayed, but it appears we have arrived. The moving van is promised a couple of days behind us. Fingers crossed!
It is, I guess, how a story about which I had heard, but never really believed in, is supposed to unfold: an amicable divorce. This morning, back in Morrisville, NC, I was returning from Mc Donald’s at some obscene hour - somewhere between 6:30 and 7:00 AM. This is not why I retired. I mean even when I was “working” I arranged my schedule to allow a civilized wake-up around 9:30 or 10:00. Even when the kids were small their Mom insisted on being the “morning parent.” Why fight it?
Anyhow, I had a sack of what passes for breakfast at Mickey D’s on the seat beside me so Christine and I could inhale some calories before the movers arrived for what was supposed to be the last day of packing. The sprinklers were misting the golf course as the sun yawned, stretched, and poked her nose up over the edge of the trees. I immediately flashed back to Greek I at Kalamazoo College, Dr. Poggi’s translations - maybe The Iliad? “Behold the rosy fingered dawn!” Or words to that effect.
It really was lovely. And I should have been more moved. I mean this was, in all likelihood, my last “in residence” day in a city that I had called home for more than four decades. It was the scene of the most intense experiences of my life. You name it, it happened here. And the vista was ethereal. And yet I really just wanted the van to be filled and on the road to Illinois.
It is, of course, a question of what is here and what is not. What is here is one set of kids and a couple of awesome grandkids. But they aren’t going anywhere. One set of close friends from my years at the remains, but our intentions of a “hail and farewell” gathering with them was torpedoed - as is too often the case these days - by the unexpected death of half of an even older dear couple and the imperative to provide comfort to the surviving spouse.
What, then is here? Kids and grandkids who will remain only a short plane ride away, easily revisited and a continuing source of delight. Also remaining are, sadly, fewer friends than we have fingers on one hand to count them, with whom we have hopes of revisiting - but who may not remain.
What is most powerfully here are memories. And what is most powerfully not here are many of those precious people with whom those memories were created. Some have died. Some have disappeared. Some have moved away. Some have chosen distance over intimacy. Some have returned but with a fragile permanence.
Some appear as mist upon fairways in the morning. A smile, an inhalation paused and treasured.
But not enough to remain.
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