After 12 years and 642 posts, this one is late, published on a Tuesday and not a Monday, because of a weekend of asymmetrical goodbyes. The asymmetrical goodbye is when one side has an awareness of this being final — this is the last time, we may never pass this way again, this is it — while the other doesn’t. This weekend, maybe everyone was fully aware, or maybe not. Between a funeral for a death in the family (mom’s side) on Saturday and a family reunion (dad’s side) on Sunday, I had the quiet intentionality of the asymmetrical goodbye.
I left Virginia 50 years ago. I spent almost 30 years on the west coast and returned to the east coast three years ago. Off the top of my head, I can think of only five family events I’ve attended, so this weekend was a big one to start with. Then I did the math.
Call me crazy, which many do, it’s pretty easy to figure out. From my generation of cousins, my brother and I are the youngest. Everyone else gets into the once- and twice-removed. But more importantly, they’re people I only know of by association. Then add that I was among the oldest in attendance on both days. Given my track record, age, and distance, there are few of these fine people I’m likely to be in the room with again.
The goodbyes became intentional: a last look to really see the person, the goodbye hug. I do think one knew in the moment — she pulled me a little closer — and another, as he was saying goodbye to my brother, realized it too. It’s time.
I remember being younger, and the old people would say, “I just want to look at you.” I understand it now. Seeing some of the kids and grandkids and the remarkable resemblance to their younger parents, or just seeing someone eight years younger than me with eleven grandkids looking none the worse for wear — amazing. Now I’m on the other side.
There is a beauty in knowing this. It’s about catching the moment and riding the emotion. I was present. I have no photos. I have memories.
Balancing on Unstable Surfaces 