Nostalgia

In late August many years ago, my parents left me at Hillsdale College in Michigan. I was a transfer student and it was my junior year. Our parting, on their wedding anniversary, was difficult. I had never seen my father shed a tear--not even when his mother died, but he cried at our goodbye. We knew we wouldn't see each other for four months.

My father wrote to me every week while I was away--every single week. I don't think he missed a week in the two years I was there. All my housemates came to expect to see the letter waiting for me on Saturday mornings.

I've been thinking of those letters since my dad died. I saved them all. Tonight, I finally pulled the file box out and found the first letter he sent. Here is some of what he said:

"I'm sure you know that leaving you was one of the hardest things I (and your mom) have ever had to do. Frankly, I didn't want to go but it was necessary. As result of our departure you were able to get on with what you needed to do--mainly adjust--which I am sure you are able to do. You are a good woman with a good head on your shoulders and I have no doubt that you will be very OK. I cried for you and I pray for you. You will show your class and do me proud."

I miss that man.

I have come to recognize that most of our adult lives are negotiating one adjustment after the other--the comings and goings, the births and deaths, the new years and the old. We make our deepest grooves, creating permanent spaces, in the love we give and receive from the heart.