Hello, Long Good-Bye

On Saturday, in the early morning hours of December 6, my brother and I drove our father to John F. Kennedy International airport. There we were to make sure he arrived to the departure gates of Delta Airlines, checked his large bags, verified gates and departure times and basically assist him with all of the concrete and confusing details of modern travel. This is where we were to leave him for the first leg of his return trip to Colombia, a mere nine months since his return from there back home.

This time, however, his exit was more bitter than sweet. With the holidays just around the bend, my already heightened emotions made it doubly difficult to watch him walk away, becoming a small figure in the distance, farther away from his two children. And us, left behind, along with all we have left in this world to hold on to our childhood. The unkind understanding of knowing he had bought a one-way ticket, with the hopes, or intentions of returning to us in six months. I cried because, well, there is no because. I cried. He was leaving and it will be our first year without both of our parents when the clock strikes 12 on December 31st a moment that defines family and new beginnings to me.

While we gathered his paperwork, making sure he would be boarding and moving from Delta to Avianca without incident, it was hard to concentrate on the actual "leaving" aspect of the day. He was so nervous and shaky. He looked feeble, helpless and scared. It was hard for me, especially, a member of the Daddy’s Little Girl Club, to see this different man from the strong father I know and love. It was hard for me to finally see his age wear on him like a heavy, burdensome coat. But still we moved about, speaking to him and reminding him of things as simple as "Don't leave your bag behind you unattended!" Like a little boy, we tended to his questions and concerns and tried to make this trip less strenuous than it could otherwise be. So much to say and the clock ticking down and suddenly we find ourselves speechless and it is all you can do to keep from screaming: "Please, Daddy! Don't leave us alone for Christmas!" But I don’t say it. I don’t say much of anything because the crutch of adulthood prevents me from being real and honest as children so often are. I realized that if I did say it, he would get on that plane sadder than he was starting to appear. I held back for him, more so than for myself.

It wasn't until I realized that we couldn't go past security to lounge about with him and wait for his plane, that I could not hold back anymore. Damn those terrorists and all this new security to hell!!! The waterworks began and the trembling that accompanies it followed. My father would leave and he would board that plane and by day's end he would be in a whole different continent and country, so far from us that we can't just drive or call on whim. The sadness shook me inside and out and I was both sad and angry with him for going. I would hear later that night that he had arrived well and without incident and that he sounded "happier than he has in months."

Well, to a degree that news brings me some comfort. He is happy and is that not what I should want for him now? He can still laugh and feel OK without her, so should I be angry with him for seeking that out? No, I can't be angry, but the fear of losing him even before I lose him overtakes me.

I drove home from the airport, following my brother just until the split in the road that would lead him back to his home and me back to mine. Just another unyielding and harshly visible separation that breaks apart our once small and tight-knit family of four into even smaller pieces as we scatter through the area like flotsam in the wind. I wonder on my long drive back, if this is not the new now for us. Is this the way it ought to be when we grow old? Must we leave that circle of family obligatorily behind us as we forge ahead making new paths with new people along the way? If it is, why am I having such a hard time dealing with the reality of it? I cry and cry on my drive home. I must look a sight to anyone driving by. I think about my mother, imagining how different this would all be, were she still among us. I guarantee she would not want to spend the holidays away from her children. Nor was she on some bleeding heart return mission to her country of origin. Her home and place was always wherever we were. But that is not my father and it doesn’t make him a good or bad person. It just makes him human. He longs for his roots and his place. Since what grounded him most is missing from his life now, he is seeking a different way to be OK with himself and his life.

Despite the long years away from Colombia, while he raised a family and planted roots in new soil, he still needed to identify himself as a Colombian living abroad. Even after becoming an American citizen, he needs that tiny piece of earth to stake claim to and call his own. No one can stand in judgment or blame, though I am sure some do even when they think we don’t know it.

Off went my father again, circling like a hawk to its prey, searching for the nourishment from life that he needs. Off he went again and will one day return to us still searching for right. Yet if you see it for what it is, you’ll recognize the obvious. He is really just trying to find some meaning in what is left of his years, when the meaning of his life so painfully has left him.