Here’s a story for Kaitlin on moving day. Like the best of possessions that we accumulate and move from home to home throughout our lives, it’s mercifully light and has legs of its own.
I remember when I told my parents that I was moving out. Actually, I didn’t tell them, I asked for their consent at the dinner table one night when I was 18. We all knew that was a formality, but it was the right thing to do. My mother reverted to her meltdown mantra, asking “What did I do wrong?” Then she began to cry. My father looked at me for a thoughtful moment, then said in what I call his Rock of Ages voice, “You know, Mark, I’ve had my children around me for thirty years. You get used to that and don’t think about it ever ending. I’ll miss you when you go.”
Then I began to cry.
Thirty years later, I reprised the scene with my son, also 18, and I could pull this story out of my emotional repertoire. By then I could play all the roles, even my mother’s.
Good luck in your new place, Kaitlin!