THE LEAVING

Ultimately, she was probably just upset at the prospect of being left out. But the fact did not mean her question caught her mother and I any less flatfooted, or lessen in any way the laughter we still share when we remember the moment. It did not lessen, ultimately, the cutting clarity of the question – just maybe not in the way she intended. See, for all of our kids’ relatively brief sojourns in this world, my wife and I have made regular gatherings with friends an essential part of our family life. We all try to gather for special occasions, of course –birthdays, holidays, other life highlights. But of even more importance are the smaller get togethers. Camping weekends with friends of a hardier variety, who enjoy dinner and conversations around a fire under the stars, and can tolerate a few days without air conditioning, evenings without the nest-like comfort of their bed at home, and slightly longer walks to a common bathhouse, when nature calls. For those whose closest approach to camping might be a 2-star hotel, water park resort weekends have proven to be a big splash. Or on a smaller scale, summer evenings on the patio, with a bit of backyard barbecue and splashing in the pool. Friday nights with pizza and board games, or perhaps a weekend brunch. Whatever form it may take, those gatherings have proven invaluable, offering an opportunity to shake off the stress, and to just be, well, *us* again, with people who know and understand *us.* And the kids have almost always accompanied us on these gatherings, sharing the meal before usually being dispatched to play, watch movies, or hit the pillow for a couple of hours in another room, to allow for grown-up time. So, you can only imagine the utter shock and laughter, amid gasps, that erupted with the question. The exact details of what precipitated the moment remains a bit fuzzy. As I recall, we were having breakfast in our dining room, discussing text messages we had received from another couple, firming up plans for the weekend – plans that, for once, did not include the kids. In her consternation at the thought of not being allowed to see her friends, my youngest daughter suddenly blurted out, loudly: “Wait, you have friends?! Of your own?!” After the gasping and laughter died down, we asked her to explain herself. What followed was the nugget of truth, a completely unintentional sobering slap if ever there was one: “But I thought you lost all your friends when you grow up?” If only she knew. Growing up, I knew my parents had friends, of course. I even knew most of their names, and a little about most of them. There was, for instance, the evangelical pastor, who at one time had been a Catholic priest. There was the nurse, who was married to the police officer. There were the Italian couple, with 12 kids, all of whom were more musically talented than us, and could have been the next incarnation of the Partridge Family. And so on and so forth. But I probably would have been a bit more prepared for what awaited us in adulthood if I had paid a bit more attention to the departures. This isn’t really about death, though that is a part of it. Rather, it’s about the *leaving.* It’s about friends who, after years of sharing those weekends, barbecues, game nights, holidays, birthdays, and more, suddenly just vanish. Some advance in their careers and relocate. Others have a falling out with family or others close to them, and suddenly decide a change in scenery is in order. Others decide the time has arrived to execute a long-schemed plan to exit the region, and head to warmer (and lower tax) climates (he says, circling Florida, Texas and Tennessee on the map on the wall.) But for others, there isn’t really a good explanation. The connections that once seemed inseverable quietly fray over time, and then disappear altogether, and spiritually, relationally, you both just drift away to very different places, though geographically still the same. And when next you meet, it is never - can never - be the same, because you are not the same. Perhaps we are not all that usual, the exception that proves the rule, as they say. But observation and experience say otherwise, I think. Thankfully, the consternation is softened by a few friendships that never seem to fade, and the understanding that there are always new opportunities to make new connections, to forge new bonds with people who will soon no longer be strangers, to continue to find ways to gather, and make and share memories, as families and as friends. But as we again recently have bid farewell to more friends, we are constantly reminded that The Leaving never really stops. And, darn it, if that kid wasn’t wrong, in a way that only a kid can be.

 JonathanBilykwritesabout thetriumphsandtravailsof beingamodern-daydadwho legitimatelyenjoystimewith hisfamily , whiletoleratinga dogthatseemstoadorehim. Healsodoesn’treallylikethe moniker“Superdad”becauseitmakesitsoundlikehe wantstowearhisundergarmentsontheoutsideof hispants.(Also, thecaperemainsonbackorder.)