SLICE OF LIFE

And then it is time

to say goodbye.

It is snowing hard, 

has been snowing all day

and the roads are treacherous.

Son #2 says, "Let me drive."

I know he is a better snow driver

 than I am

and I acquiesce.  

There is so much I want to say

in these last few minutes.

I want to give advice

about buying books

and making spaghetti

and  doing laundry.

I want to tell them to push aside

the failures of the previous semester

to be strong

to fight the forces 

that threaten to consume

that God is bigger 

than evil 

and that if you surround yourself 

with good people

it's easier to fight.

I want to tell them I believe 

in the men 

they can become

I want to tell them

how much I love them.

Instead

I sit in the back

white-knuckled 

and silent

as son navigates

snow and ice and slush

in speeds that seem 

way too fast.

Only once

do a few words of caution 

slide out.

 He barks back at me,

"I know what I am doing."

No one says another word 

until we are almost there.

"Which terminal?"

says he (who knows what he is doing).

And then, 

me, mother,

keeper of all things trivial,

(like airport terminal numbers

and flight times 

and shuttle reservations) 

is allowed to offer advice. 

"Where do I park?" he asks.

My knowledge of the trivial fails.

I cannot remember where

in the giant terminal

we will find our airline

and so I advise him 

to park in the middle.

The boys unload their luggage

and follow me 

two long blocks

through the terminal.

I expect long lines

and crowds

but aside from a few skiers

and parents wearing 

shaky smiles

like my own

the airport is quiet

and we are through check in

in a matter of moments.

I walk the boys to security.

"Do you know where you are going

or are your just walking?"

Son #2 barks

as I miss a turn.

We reverse direction,

go down an escalator,

and then it is really time.

Goodbye time.

The time I hate. 

Son #1 said his goodbyes

at the house

when we were taking down the tree

earlier this afternoon.

He gives me a quick hug

and turns away.

Son #2 

has been grumpy all day

and I wonder 

if he will even say goodbye.

He does.

He hugs me

and my lip trembles. 

"Don't cry," he says

and starts to walk away.

Then turns back to me.

"Don't cry,"

he repeats

giving me another hug

before joining his brother

as I stand there

watching

my two leaky 

little rowboats

once again

launching

out into that big wide world

I am praying

that somehow

they will be 

strong enough

to sail

or at least

that they will stay afloat

until they make their way back

to our home harbor

once again.