As they backed out of the driveway and then drove slowly away, I followed, waving constantly until they were out of sight. Just like my grandmother used to do.
When I was a child and we visited my grandmother, the last sight we had as we left was her following us out of her driveway and down the street, standing there smiling and waving until we turned the corner and the house vanished from sight. In response, all three of us, my brothers and I, would plaster ourselves to the car windows and wave maniacally back as we left her behind.
So when Pam and Marley left last Sunday night around dark, I found myself on the other side of the equation, following the car down the drive and seeing them off into the night. Just like my grandmother used to do.
Texas is a long way from Alabama, and so we see the family we left 800 miles away less often than we would like. The time we spend together at Christmas is joyful and triumphant, but much too short. I find myself greedy of my time spent with family seldom seen but constantly in my thoughts. So that's why I found myself eager to follow them out, to get just one more moment spent together.
But like I suspect my grandmother did, I also want to give them that last contact with me. And for their last memory of our time together this Christmastime to be of me standing there waving them into the night.
So as we approach the beginning of another year, I find myself wrapped in memories of the past, of being a kid pressed up against the back window of the car, a lump in my throat as I waved goodbye to a little white-haired woman padding down her driveway to make sure that our last vision was of her smile as we turned the corner and disappeared from her life until the next time.
Absence from whom we love is worse than death
And frustrates hope severer than despair
-William Cowper
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