There with my love, I'm home

Scene from Fiddler on the Roof:

A father says goodbye to his daughter at the train station.

Father: "And he asks you to leave your father and mother, and join him in that frozen wasteland ...?"

Daughter: "No, Papa. He did not ask me to go. I want to go."

I will say goodbye to my family tomorrow, before the sun has even risen, in the cool mist of the morning air.

The past few days here have been grim. Now that the reality of saying goodbye has finally hit, we are all numb with grief except for the occasionally outburst of anguish.

I went shopping today and just wandered the aisles aimlessly, hollowed out with the sick reality of what we are actually doing tomorrow when we pull away. My mother says that it is like a death, and we need to go through the grieving process. For me it is a complicated and wrenching pain, since I am both a victim and the perpetrator of this crime.

The crime of taking away not only their daughter, but a son they've grown to love, and worst of all, their beloved grandchildren.

"How can I hope to make you understand, why I do what I do? Why I must travel to a distant land, far from the home I love?

I know of course that saying goodbye is not as bad as it used to be. We have web cams, and cheap long distance and discount flights. My parents are both retired now and travel well and often. My sister has summers off. We'll definitely see each other at Christmas and at least once in the summer.

But.

We've been seeing my parents an average of every 2-3 weeks over the past year. And my sister at least once or twice a week. And nothing substitutes for being in-person, watching your dad play fist-kiss with your baby son, listening to your mom read a book to your growing daughter or eating Friday-night-sushi with your little sister while laughing at the week's events.

Once I was happily content to be, as I was, where I was.

Or staying up late talking about relationships with your dad. Or crying on your mom's shoulder when things are really, really, really hard and you feel like you're failing at the most important thing you've ever done.

Close to the people who are close to me, here in the home I love.

I don't have the words to say goodbye to that. I don't know how to ask them to say goodbye to Mela and Nate.

To mark the event, I would do a compilation of photos of my parents and the kids in retrospect but there are too many. There are literally hundreds and hundreds of photos stored up because they and my sister Mary have been with us every step on the way ever since we became parents.

My mom stayed with us when Mela was born and provided the best love, advice and support we could've asked for (roast beef! spaghetti! why is it that the best parts always involve comfort food??). She cut Nathan's cord while my dad fed Mela oatmeal. Countless times, they dropped everything and drove to town because we were desperate for a break. Most importantly, they loved us unconditionally throughout it all.

Mary lived with us for Nathan's first month (arghhh), would run over in a pinch (like when I was trying to give a feverish toddler a bath while the newborn wailed), was our awesome Aunt-Nanny this summer, and somewhere along the way, became one of my best friend.

Most of all, my parents, without realizing it, have been our role models for the very parents and grandparents we hope to someday be.

How could I ever choose only a few photos, a few memories from all that time and all that happiness?

Who could see that a man would come, who would change the shape of my dreams?

One of the most poignant parts is that the other day, I was thinking about how their daughter (their Mela!) is leaving and I suddenly remembered being a little girl and sitting with my dad, telling him how much I loved him. I remember him saying he was sad that someday I would grow up and get married and move away.

I swore over and over again that I would never, never leave them.

Helpless now, I stand with him ...

I remember my dad laughing at my protest and gently explaining that it was the way of the world.

Oh, what a melancholy choice this is, wanting home, wanting him...

I wouldn't accept it though, and we finally compromised and agreed that I would move out to be with my husband some day but that we would build our house on my parents' land, in the field behind their house where the wild strawberries grew.

And now here we are, all these years later, saying goodbye because I'm moving away. My dad was right all along.

Closing my heart to every hope but his, leaving the home I love.

I can't even think about the fact that Mela may someday do this same thing herself.

That she may someday walk towards us, her arms open for a hug, while we stand in the driveway in the chill of the early morning air and her husband waits to drive her away.

While it is the way of the world, I don't know how to live in a world where I might someday have to live that scene. I can barely do this goodbye right now.

There where my heart has settled long ago, I must go, I must go.

I know I should be grateful for the time we've had. That each day with my parents and sister and the kids was a blessing, a gift (even if it was hard to recognize at the time!).

And that this isn't an ending but a new chapter in the adventure. That will take place in a beautiful (rainy) land where we have family and friends waiting who love us and where there will be many, many happy new days.

Who could imagine I'd be wandering so far from the home I love. Yet...

I just try to remember that the most important part is that the four of us are together.

When Chris and I got to my parents' house on Tuesday night, we laid in bed with Mela and took turns reading her bedtime stories.

I was so happy to be with her again, it helped me remember that we are our own little family now. And that our home is not just one house in one city, but wherever the four of us are together and happy and safe.

there with my love, I'm home."