Yesterday was my Dad’s birthday. He would have been 84 years old.
Today, my brother and I closed on the sale of the retirement home my parents built twenty-two years ago.
We said goodbye to my Mom in 1998. My Dad died seven years ago.
I suppose my life cycle with my parents is typical of many people. When I was a kid my parents made me feel safe and loved. Among many other things, they taught me the value of reading, laughter, and being thoughtful of others.
As a younger adult my Mom and Dad were my friends. I truly enjoyed hanging out with them.
As they grew old and cancer proceeded to destroy their bodies, I became their caregiver.
For better or worse, I am one of those people who never, truly, grew up. I find it hard to sit still, always in motion, looking for the next thing to do. I am inquisitive. I am naïve, particularly when it comes to human interaction. I will trust you before you’ve earned it. I am optimistic. I'd rather play than work.
In many ways I am still the boy I was many years ago.
I also hate goodbyes. I am not very good at them, but not for lack of opportunity. I’ve said final goodbyes to both parents. An unborn daughter. Beloved family dogs. And now a home that was more than a physical presence holding memories I hold dear.
I’ve always sought solace in the outdoors. Our home on ten wooded acres was my playground and safe haven. The boy in me found comfort and joy there.
Goodbye, boy.
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