A day of departures
It is only coincidence that both my children left home on the same day. Book critics hate the use of happenstance in novels, but writers know that life is full of coincidental events, like this one: My daughter left for Manhattan early this morning, driving a rented truck stuffed with her furnishings. This afternoon, my son will board a plane headed for Iraq.
My joke for the occasion, admittedly weak and undeniably redolent of whistling past the graveyard, is that I’m not sure who I should worry about the most.
I’m proud of the gumption both have put on display. A year ago, my daughter – stuck in a dead-end job after graduating from college in 2005 – announced she’d be moving to New York to start life afresh. Skepticism among some friends and family members was high, but I encouraged her to go, on the theory that certain itches are best scratched when you’re young and unencumbered by spouses or children. I’ll admit that I sometimes wondered if she’d actually do it, but she never wavered in her determination. For the past year she worked at three jobs to fund her adventure, and spent the last month shedding unnecessary items like her car and much of her furniture. Yesterday I helped her pack what remained in the truck. She doesn’t have a job yet, or even an apartment, but she’s forging ahead in the belief that bold moves shouldn’t be derailed by such small details.
My son returns to Iraq a combat veteran, having been through one deployment already. Until a couple of months ago, when his Marine battalion learned exactly where it was headed, I feared he’d be sent to Afghanistan, where things have gotten worse as Iraq improves. That prospect didn’t seem to bother him, though, which didn’t surprise me. As I occasionally explain to people who wonder why he isn’t distraught about going into conflict: Does a fireman fear leaving the station, or a police officer balk at patrolling a beat? It’s what they do, what they’re trained for.
Still, it’s been strange to hear myself saying that I’m glad he’s going to Iraq. As I mentioned in a previous post, I became fully aware of what he faced on his first deployment only after he came home. The state of blissful ignorance I lived in while he was there was a one-time event. I can’t return to it. I know too much now. But as I ponder what the alternative could be for this deployment, I sense I’ve been given a small gift.
I knew this day eventually would arrive. When my daughter was away at college, her younger brother was still around the house. By the time he left college to join the Marine Corps, she was back in Raleigh to work. Now, for the first time, they’re both gone — having coincidentally departed on the same day.
July 24th, 2008 at 11:26 am
My son and I (as well as his classmates) will continue to keep your son in our prayers as he heads for his second tour in Iraq. We will also add your daughter as she heads to New York. As a father and someone who grew up in a military family, I can understand the strangeness of wondering which to worry about the most.
July 24th, 2008 at 3:04 pm
Tell your son that we thank him for his service.
Don’t have much to say about NYC, since I have only visited and harbor negative desire to live there. But it is definitely a fun town! If she can make it there, she can make it anywhere.
July 24th, 2008 at 3:47 pm
G. Dan,
That’s an eloquent expression of the conflicted emotions associated with being the parent of grown children.
Being an empty-nester has its good and bad points I suppose. Congratulations to you and their mother on raising two, self-sufficient, well-directed young adults. Now you can stop worrying about them. NOT.
My late mother always told me that the shortest era of my adult life would be the 18-to-20 years I spent raising my kids. She was correct.
Of course she also said that raising me was more like a 25-year task and that she gave up in frustsration more than completed the job.
She was correct about that too.
May your son and his comrades stay safe. May your daughter find fulfillment in NYC.
July 24th, 2008 at 4:21 pm
Something tells me that, based on your handling of adversity, you are a tough man and will make it through this rough patch. You’re in my thoughts.
July 24th, 2008 at 11:04 pm
We’re approaching a similar set of departures with our teenagers. It’s rough - and we imagine our day coming. Hopefully it won’t all be on one day, though. Hard to imagine that. As usual, you turned it all into a well crafted piece.
May God bless them both and bring them back to you safe and sound - for visits, at least.