Leaving on a Jet Plane

Our son is leaving on a jet plane.

Gina and I took Matthew to the airport today. Our sixteen-year-old was joining his class for a week-long trip to DC and New York.

And though it might not seem like a long time to be gone, or too far a distance, for us, it was long and far enough.

As we waited at the airport, Gina and I took pictures with him. He was excited and probably a little nervous. And, while Gina and I were proud of him, there was also sadness behind our smiles.

The same sadness I felt yesterday while planting a garden with Alexandra. Every year, we’d buy seeds, plants and soil. Then we’d invite her friends over and they’d have a ball, getting their hands deep in the dirt, playing with worms and roly poly bugs.

This year, though, as we worked, I looked at her, now a young lady, and felt bittersweet.

Because I can’t stop it. And it seems to be going even quicker now.

Like our oldest son, Jeremy. As he drives off for work, I watch his taillights, and remember holding him as a little boy, his eyes growing wide when we went to see the Power Rangers.

So, all I can do is photograph the moments, with a camera, with words, with my eyes.

On the way home from the airport, Gina and I talked between silences about Matthew, about all the kids, who are doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing. Growing up.

Then, later, we were relieved when Matthew texted us that he’d arrived.

My mom used to say, “I wish you kids were young again.”

Now I know just how she felt when she said it.


___________________________________________________________
Copyright 2013, James. R. Warda. All rights reserved.