Starry Night

            It was our last night together. Tomorrow the kids would be on the road headed for home, a good 5 ½ hour drive. There would be only one stop to eat a packed picnic lunch and let the dogs out for a few minutes. There was enough gas to make the entire trip without having to stop. That’s the way it is with the Covid-19 scare. They were traveling from one safe community to another equally safe community, virus free. 

            Weather had cooperated for the past few days. Buying a home here had been a great idea and who could pass up the price? The entire family made the trek from the coast to tear down walls and build them back up. We removed old flooring and replaced it with new. We always saved a little time to head to the reservoir to cool off or pull the clubs out and play a round of golf. And in the process of working and playing together, our adult children became more like good friends rather than family that you saw on holidays. 

            We decided to start a fire in the enclosed outdoor fireplace. Flames shoot up through the screen doing their hypnotic dance. Everyone was a little subdued since this was the last night we would all be together. Conversation was kept to a minimum and we started watching stars. 

            “Guess you won’t be able to see the stars once you get home.” I commented. “The weather report shows fog and lots of it.”

            “Look how bright that one is.” Clint pointed in a northwesterly direction. “Star or planet?”

            “Must be a planet. I don’t see it twinkling.” I searched my brain for the differences between the two and decided that I didn’t really know for sure. “Don’t stars twinkle?”

            We all watched the fire burn down and then headed for bed.

            Breakfast was late and quiet. They didn’t want to leave, and we were of mixed feelings. Once they were gone, I wouldn’t have to cook as much or continuously tell the dogs to get off the furniture or clean the floors of footprints both human and animal. But I knew that the new peacefulness would get to me. I would miss them badly.

            They rolled out of the driveway shortly before noon with ice chests and luggage packed into the hatchback. The dogs rode in comfort on the back seat. We all smiled and waved. As soon as I stepped into the house the feeling hit. Emptiness. I thought that today I could postpone that gut-wrenching hollowness in the pit of my stomach by playing golf. No such luck. 

            I remember the first time I had the experience. We had just taken Clint to college some four hours away and had probably been back home for a couple of days when I walked down the hallway to our bedroom. Along the way, I glanced glanced the open door to his room. Instant sadness. Funny, because when he was at home he always seemed to be gone with friends, or working, or at school. What was the difference now?

            I’ve learned, however, that the feeling usually goes away by the next day. A good night’s sleep did the trick. But this time, not so much. I walked out to our small kitchen the morning after they had gone. I got all the way through making the coffee before my mind wandered to the empty bedroom at the end of the hall. Bam! My stomach clenched again. So, this is how the day would be, I thought. And it’s day two.

            Bill seemed to know that I needed distraction to be better. We didn’t talk about “it”, he just suggested that we take a ride to where the kids had gone a couple of days earlier to explore a couple of days ago. And, while we were at it, we could go to that little town we had always wanted to see but had never made the effort. I knew what he was trying to do, remedy something that would be only cured with time. The thought was nice though, so I agreed to go on the excursion. 

            We wound our way through river gorges and past power plants. Soft green leaves had started to sprout out from bare branches of the many deciduous trees White dogwood trees bloomed next to redbud plants putting on a beautiful show of colors. Yes, Bill. I’m distracted from the pain of our son leaving. I gave our house guests only one thought and that was because they had traveled the same road two days ago. Now I’m seeing it through my own eyes.

            After dinner Bill started a fire in the covered pit again. He needed to finish burning the broken-up branches that littered part of the yard. We sat watching the flames and not saying much. Perhaps we were each remembering the last time we had sat here. 

            “Look,” I said as I pointed to the bright star/planet. It must have been the one we had seen a couple of nights ago. “It’s still there.”

            “What did you expect?” Bill always the logical one.

            “Do you think that the kids are looking at the same one from their hot tub?”  My stomach was finally adapting to just the two of us. It was so quiet though. Popping sparks. The last of the doves cooing. Silence. Just the way we like it.

            “Could be.” He used the poker to stir the fire around.

            “Thank you.”

            “For what?” he asked.

            “For helping me get through the Awful Feeling.” I smiled. Maybe we don’t thank each other enough. I’d have to give it a try. The best part is that he understands what I go through. Makes a person wonder if that big, strong man experiences the same thing. He would never tell. I’m sure of that.

            Next time I check on stars, I’m going to make a wish. It could be that I never want to experience the sadness of losing my kids until I see them again. Then again, if that happens, I might not remember how much I love them all.