We say our goodbys inside the house, but we have this routine of my mom then walking out onto the front porch and waiting for me to back the car out the driveway. I wave as I put the car in forward and maybe give the horn a honk. My mom, and this evening my sister, wave back.
For some reason tonight this routine took me back in time and saying goodbys. As a child, our family would travel several hours northwest to visit my mother's parents. Being a city kid spending time among animals, fields and woods was a treat. Spending time with my grandparents was precious. So saying goodby was particularly hard.
There was a routine of waving amid shouting our goodbys as Dad pulled the loaded station wagon out the driveway. Next we would turn and sit on our knees, in those days before seat belts, and wave and wave some more. Grandma and Grandpa would wave as they stood on the large concrete back porch of the white frame house until they could see our car top the hill, which had to be a half-mile down the road.As the car ascended that hill we swore we could still see Grandma and Grandpa. Slowly the home disappeared out of sight.
But somehow that lengthy familiar routine of saying goodby made it all easier.