(Sunday, February 04, 2007)
It has been nearly a year now since I told him goodbye. The year creeped up on me--I didn't realize until I was waiting for sleep to come in my bed a week or so ago. When I realized it had been so long, I could hardly fit the thought into a corner of my mind, to dwell on later, or put aside forever; instead, it's there still, catching my eye like a glint of water under the sun.
I don't recall the way we said goodbye. I certainly know that neither of us planned on it being our last, and I'm sure our goodbye had no sense of finality to it. I could never bring myself to speak to him again, and his reasons for leaving the goodbye for our last are likely the same as they were over twenty years ago.
When we met for the second time in my life, some three and a half years ago, I would have never thought our goodbye would be so soon. Our hello meant so much that I thought I could never say goodbye, and it wasn't until recently that I questioned how he could have said it so long ago, when I was only a newborn in his arms. Maybe he didn't say it then... but he thought it; he knew it.
Maybe he never wanted to say hello. But he did. My letter came to him on his birthday. Soon after, I heard his voice in my ear for the first time: "Hi Megan, this is your dad."
I remember his hello, but I don't remember our goodbye.
Indulge in more Sunday Scribblings.
© Megan K. 2006-2007