We fought to swallow the lumps in our throat, and we blinked away the tears. Then, we said goodbye.
Our daughter had always been our run-away bride. No man had been able to tame her. Some had come close—one even close enough to give her two children—but in the end, either she or they walked away. As a single mom of two rambunctious boys, she worked diligently to provide a good home for them, and my wife and I did the grandparent thing by keeping them five—and sometimes—six days every week so she could work and have a life. For the most part, I provided the only daddy figure they had. I tried to do things with them that busyness and misplaced priorities had kept me from doing with my own children.
One day, she announced she was dating. A nice young man. One we had known since he was a teenager. One I had mentored for several years. We were elated. Within a few months, they were talking about marriage. And within a few more months they were engaged and had set the date. Then, COVID-19 hit, and his situation at work changed.
Before we knew it, their wedding had been moved forward four months, she was putting her house up for sale, and they were moving to Arkansas because of our son-in-law’s job transfer. We were happy about their new opportunities, but sad that we’d be losing our two grandsons (and of course our daughter and son-in-law) to a state eleven hours away.
We counted down the days until their move, pretending what was about to happen was only a dream. But it wasn’t, and before we were ready, their moving day arrived. My wife cooked them a nice supper the night before their departure, and we said our goodbyes so we wouldn’t have to early the next morning. My wife cried, and I—trying to be the man who didn’t cry—fought with the tears that kept puddling in my eyes. The next morning, they dropped off our air mattress they had used for the previous two nights, we said another quick goodbye, and they were off.
Although neither my wife nor I had ever visited Arkansas, we planned to visit within a few weeks before I had to return to school. I had never wanted to drive eleven hours, but suddenly, I did. I had never wanted to visit Arkansas, but now I anticipated the days before we would.
Our small patio townhome is much quieter these days. My wife and I watch whatever we want on television—or nothing at all. Our grocery bill plummeted, and so did my wife’s need to cook. We don’t keep as many snacks in the pantry, and I pick the garden vegetables all alone. No more remote to find. No more dinosaurs and Legos to put up at the end of the day. No more fights to referee. And I don’t have anyone to tell my old family stories to anymore.
Growing up as a preacher’s kid—and then being a preacher myself—I’ve had to say goodbye to many people and places in my lifetime. It seemed I never stayed anywhere long enough to make good friends. Sometimes, I was anxious to move, but most of the time, I loathed it. And every time, saying goodbye—whether to friends or family—was hard.
Change can be a welcome or unwelcome bedfellow, but one thing is certain: change is inevitable. Our headmaster’s word to us teachers for the 2020-2021 school year was adapt. We had no choice—as we often don’t with change. Sometimes, we see change coming; at other times, we don’t. Sometimes, we can prepare for change; often, we can’t.
Change won’t go away, but adapting changes our attitude about change. We can see it as God-sent or at the very least, God-allowed. This mindset helps us to adapt…to have peace amidst life’s changes…to anticipate what God has ahead for us.
I don’t know about you, but I look forward to the day John talked about. “He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever” (Revelation 21:4 NLT).
No more pain. No more sorrow. No more tears. No more saying goodbye to friends or family. No more unwelcome change. Just an eternity to enjoy each other and the God who loves us and has provided for our salvation.
I hope I’ll see you there…forever.
This had me in tears. I was just looking at my own boys last night, noticing how fast they are growing, and thinking about how strange it will be one day (not too far off) to no longer have Transformers and toy cars underfoot all the time.
Bless you. Thanks for sharing your heart.