The anticipation of Matt's arrival home a few hours ago (for a short visit full of wedding details) kept me buzzing like any happy hostess - what should we eat? What kind of wine? Set out the towels!
Then it hit me - this is his last visit before he comes back home to marry.
We are so excited about October. And I refuse, though I unconsciously can wander there, to go down the path of endings and ruminate there for any length of time (although you must agree that a parent's role diminshes - or should - when a child marries). Rather, I share the same rush of excitement as he does, the hope and energy that every new beginning, especially marriage, promises.
I must admit, I read every word twice in Michael Gerson's recent essay about his son leaving home:
In describing the angst he feels on his son leaving for college, Gerson says:
There is no use brooding about it. I’m sure my father realized it at a similar moment. And I certainly didn’t notice or empathize. At first, he was a giant who held my hand and filled my sky. Then a middle-aged man who paid my bills. Now, decades after his passing, a much-loved shadow. But I can remember the last time I hugged him in the front hallway of his home, where I always had a room. It is a memory of warmth. I can only hope to leave my son the same.