This week’s Bookless Club questions:
Is there an art to saying goodbye?
How has the Internet made your farewells different?
What do you remember of leaving home?
Have you gotten better at saying goodbye?
Here’s the link to Jane’s column: When September means letting go.
And here’s my response:
My only nephew is eight years old and the love of my life. Because we live so far apart, I’ve missed a lot of his childhood, and every time we say goodbye, it’s doubly sad, because I know I’ll never see that same little boy again. Next time we meet, he’ll be taller, and his face will be different. Maybe he won’t have those round baby cheeks anymore.
This summer, when it’s time for me to leave after spending a week with him, we joke around at the airport and pretend he’s coming with me. He holds my hand and walks with me right up to security. I don’t want him to see me cry, so I try very hard not to. I’m getting better at it. This time, I don’t cry at all. At least, not on the outside.