On the Leaving of Sons

For Kent

On a hot, muggy July morning, God gave us our first child, a son. Seth’s coming was easy for me; not so much for Rita, but I can only assume given some particular indications of her experience. (Ignorance in the uninitiated father is truly bliss; my only pain was from a well-squeezed hand.) With this new, long-awaited being finally in our lives, joy filled the room, our hearts, and our lives; so much that even eternity could not seemingly lessen its breadth nor depth. He was us; we were he.

So 20 years later when his leaving day came -- that day for which I, from the day of his birth, ignorantly and ironically set out to prepare him -- I realized I had failed to prepare myself. I had known it was coming from the time the doctor let me cut his umbilical cord. Now another cord lay ready.

We -- the Family . . . Rita, Seth’s two sisters, his little brother, and I -- moved the trappings of his fledgling life into his dorm room. We went out to eat, prolonging the inevitable with a burrito special and sweet tea. And then we said, “we’ll see you later,” “call us when you get a chance,” “have fun,” "I love you" . . . “bye.” At that moment, a hole the size and shape of the universe opened in my heart, and we left him there, a pilgrim in an alien land called Oklahoma.

Since then, the hole isn’t as big and it's changed in shape, like any earthen hole will change with the passing of time. The strange thing, however, is that this hole, where I once thought nothing else could grow, will hold a large number of new plantings: a confident, maturing son; a loving, supporting daughter-in-law and her family; and, yes, all of their untold friends who are now, our friends, too.

My father told me this would be one of the hardest things I’d ever have to go through in my life . . . He was right. But, for Seth . . . and all too soon for Leslie and Kori and then Nicholas . . . it can’t happen any other way. So, my friend, when that hole opens in your heart this fall, remember that it’s just part of being a great dad.

Oh, and you know that Cat’s in the Cradle song by Harry Chapin? . . . I hate it.