Having your child live in another state does not make you less than a parent. But it sure feels like it.
After a couple of decades of the daily intimacies of fevers, friendships and teacher conferences the detachment of phone calls and email reports seem almost foreign. There isn't a day that passes where I don't see or hear something that makes me think instantly of Jess or Jen, followed just as quickly by the disapointing realization that I will not be able to tell them or show them directly.
Planting roots now seems so much easier than surrendering to wings. The intellectual argument for both is there, but the irrational, selfish, parent-protector separates slowly.
I used to have their pictures on my desk as a reminder that no matter what happened at work, at the end of the day I had my daughters. Now the images just remind me nostalgically of those times.
Grandpa Mohn would put his fingertips together to form the peaked roof of a home and say "the only people who really matter are right here." In the ups and downs of business and life, I often find myself touching my fingers together in silent reminder. My daughters represent the major commitment and motivation of my adult life.
Charlie and I went to the airport in high anticipation last night to pick up Jen. As we approached the arrivals area, we noticed groups of people with balloons and banners as well as television cameramen and radio reporters standing by.
The profusion of stars and stripes, as well as the hopeful tears streaming from eyes fixed on the arrivals gate made it instantly clear that someone's son or daughter (husband/ wife, father/mother) was returning from combat.
And I felt like an idiot.
No, I'm not going to see Jess again until spring and Jen has already cut her Christmas trip short to get back to her boyfriend for New Year's Eve. But they are both in a place they chose, pursuing the dreams they need to chase, free of obvious or imminent danger.
I am so lucky.


Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs