“Lisa, look
at that vanity plate on the car in front of us.” “Which car?” “Um,” I begin
without thinking (hardly a first for me), “The car with the only plate we can
see.” She looks at me with a crooked smile. “Smart ass.” The smile tells me to
take “smart ass” seriously but also tells me that if I should happen to die
soon in my sleep, it will likely be natural causes. “What about it? What’s it
say? KIDSRGON.” Some people just shouldn't be allowed to make their own vanity plates.
“Kids are
gone; that’s what it says,” Lisa translates for us. I begin my
editorial/sermon/hell fire and brimstone remarks. “I can’t believe that. How
much can you hate your kids that you’d joyfully announce their departure—on a
license plate, no less?” I was really bothered by that plate and the attitude I
assumed it communicated. “I’ll be sad when our kids are all gone,” I hear my
holier-than-though voice say. Lisa gives a “hmm” that is about as ambiguous as
ambiguous can be.
Our Baby
Girl signed the lease for her apartment the other day. For her first, very own
apartment. Leena, our oldest, hasn't lived “at home” since 1996. She lives far
away and has her own family. Maybe we live too far away, “way the hell west” of
the whole country. Thaddaeus and Jared have both been gone for two years.
This weekend,
“KIDSRGON.”
This is
where you are thinking, “Now his eyes are open and he’s gonna tell us how happy
he is.” Only a wee bit right. I am happy that Tabitha is embarking on her own
as an adult. It’s been a long time coming. She’s excited. I’m excited for her.
But, even if we had a car, I still wouldn't want a plate celebrating our empty
nest. Many days I feel the mist and tears welling up in my eyes and I do my
best to hold them back until no one else is home. I still think those folks all
those years ago are full of shit.
OK, in
fairness, I can’t possibly know anything about them from that plate. Tongue in
cheek? A gift from the kids who are gone? Hell, as they sat at the light
waiting to turn right onto Rochester Road, maybe they were headed to I-75 to go
visit kids and maybe grandkids. Nevertheless, I’d never sport a plate like that.
I’d never want anything that suggested that I’m glad to have them gone. All
four are where they need to be. However challenging, they need to be living
their lives. I rejoice that all four have more or less survived me. God is
good. God gave us Lisa to keep us alive!
The heart’s
a funny thing. It can hold several emotions at the same time. Even when some of
the emotions are strong; even when some of the strong emotions are opposites.
My heart is full of joy for our kids. My heart is full of joy for Lisa and me
because we will also be moving on to the next stage in our life. We got married
too soon (maturity, not years). We started having kids too soon (please refer
to previous parenthetical statement). It’s time for our time.
Everything
is as it should be. But it’s all wrong.
I think I
thought we’d all be together all our lives. We’d just get a really big house so
each family had its space but that we were still together. Families used to do
that, no? But it’s not to be.
Our nest
will soon be inhabited by Mama Bird and Papa Bird (did I really just write
that?) and no baby birds. We’ll all adapt. We’ll all grow.
But I think
the misty eyes and tears won’t go away soon.
Or ever.
