Part 2: Saying Goodbyes

I could feel my breath catching in my throat. It was the it-the moment I'd been counting down to literally my entire life. The love of my life had already made this walk only moments before.  And quite honestly, I'm not able to focus on much aside from my flushed cheeks, the heat in the gym, and the surreal feeling of the teenage dreamer's equivalent of starring on the red carpet or making a million bucks or something.  I walk down the aisle and take my seat among my classmates and sit impatiently through all of the mandatory mumbo-jumbo.  I would have been valedictorian if I hadn't graduated a year early, but there's still the satisfaction in knowing that my GPA was higher than that of the lanky jock talking about being friends forever and junk.  

But the music makes me cry.  

And my parents make me cry.  

And my friends make me cry.  

And it was successfully memorable enough as a very emotional beginning to the rest of my life.  

Seventeen years old and the world is at my fingertips!

Missouri. We plan to move to Missouri for our first trek away from home.  But not just any part of Missouri, the razzle-you, dazzle-you Kansas City, Missouri to go to the not-so-renowned modern business college that successfully razzle-dazzled me.  

James and I have saved up enough money to get us there after busting our asses at Sonic for the last few years.  I think it's enough to get us into an apartment; to get us started at least.

Mom has begged and begged me not to go but Dad knows my life has to start sometime. I won't be 18 until February and that worries him a little, but I've got a good head on my shoulders and, as a high school graduate, I'm virtually unstoppable.  Besides, James is old enough to buy our cigarettes.

One week to go, and everything seems perfect.

Six more days...

Five more days...

Four more days...

"Hey Shannon, your dad doesn't look so well."
"Are you sure he's not just high?"
"No, really, Shannon, he's limping more than usual and complaining that his legs feel swollen."
Those words resonate with me more than most. My dad actually had open-heart surgery a while back and the doctor told him that he would be back in three years if he didn't make some serious lifestyle changes. That was ten years ago and my black-coffee guzzling dad was still smoking his 3 packs a day.

I make my way into the living room, approach the fuzzy blue recliner, and start casually peaking at my dad's extended legs. James was right. He is really swollen.
"Hey dad, how long have your legs been swollen?"
"Oh, Shannon, I don't know. What does it matter?" 
"It might have something to do with your heart.  Or your blood flow circulation. You could be about to have a heart attack or a stroke or-"
"I'm not going to the doctor, I'm fine."
"But dad, you've gotta go! I won't have time to take you after today because I'll be packing and then you're going to be home alone for a few days when mom moves us in and we'll be four hundred miles away! What if something bad happens to you? I will never forgive myself if you die because you didn't go to the hospital and I could have saved you because I knew you needed to go to the hospital but instead I just sat around and let you be stubborn and not go to the freaking hospital when I knew you needed to!!"
He glares at me a little over the word "freaking," but I think I got my point across.  Five years ago, he was unstoppable. He was tan and fit with his thick, dark black hair and his stark, icy blue eyes. Now I'm looking at my dad's pale skin, a shade of gray much ashier than that of his thinning hair.  His thin, frail frame is almost swallowed up by the recliner.  I think it takes most of his energy to just change the tv channel sometimes.  But I miss his eyes the most. He used to have the most breath-taking eyes imaginable, I used to pray and pray and pray somehow my eyes would eventually evolve into his, but now his eyes are cloudy with dark shadows around them. I usually use the out-of-sight, out-of-mind approach until moments like this one where I actually take it all in.  And then I start to cry.
"Fine, I'll go to the doctor but I'm not going to Jonesboro today."
"But dad, this hospital is a bandaid station! I wouldn't take my worst enemy there for a cold let alone my only father for a probable heart issue!"  He knows I am freaking out and he's just so calm, always keeping his cool.
"Deal or no deal." God, he's just as stubborn as I am. A doctor, although a somewhat uneducated potentially totally nit wit doctor, is better than no doctor, I suppose. So I agree.
Mom, Dad, James and I all pile into the dusty white explorer. I start the car, pull out of the driveway, and make a beeline straight for Jonesboro. 

He fussed a little bit but I bought him a whopper on the way out of town and it seemed to suffice as an apology.  Plus my dad loved me.  And he knew how much he meant to me.  So he let me haul him into the Jonesboro ER where they poked and prodded and we waited and waited.

 James and I paced and paced the urban hills around the ER, smoking cigarette after cigarette.  Talking, reminiscing about dad and that very ER.  I pointed to a window high above us, "See that window?  That's part of the annex...I used to sit on the ledge and peer out of it as a little girl, just looking for distractions.  I remember every time a phone would ring...and terror would just grip me because I knew that THAT would be the call - the call saying dad didn't make it."  I take another drag and stomp out my cigarette.  We make it to the cemetery (who had the bright idea to plant a hospital beside a cemetery anyway??) and James lights me another one as we turn around to start pacing back.  "Haha!  Did I ever tell you about the time they lost dad?  Like literally could NOT find him anywhere.  They called us freaking out!  Of course, I was panicking thinking he fell down the stairwell or heat stroked in the parking garage but NO, he was just chilling watching a Cubs game in the waiting room right across from his room!  Can you believe that?  Does that sound like my dad or what?"  James chuckles.

That's what's so perfect about James.  He just stays so quiet and let's me just go on and on.  And he always chuckles, agrees, and "ah's" on cue.  He knows I am freaking out and he's just so calm, always keeping his cool.  And he always calms me down, just by standing there.  Just by walking with me and letting me rant and rave and cry when I need to.  "And in three days we're finally moving off together like a dream come true and here we are, chain smoking in a 'tobacco free' alley just praying it all works out.  In three days we'll finally get to take our first real whack at true adulthood, and here I am, just a scared little girl blubbering off and on like an idiot."  He stops.  We turn and face each other in silence.  In one fell swoop, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him.  In that moment, the taste of his kiss and the tenderness of his lips against mine consumes me...and I am overwhelmed with the euphoria of youth, of unguarded love, of knowing that my life has never been so right.

--

Dad calls me into the kitchen.  He hobbles into the light.  I peak down at his legs just to be sure.

"I'm fine, there's just some rain coming in."

I've been packing the car all morning.  James is outside with our moms.  This is the hardest part.  I had always been daddy's little girl and I had always hated telling him goodbye.  Especially this time, especially now.

"I wanna give you something."  He handed me his gold crucifix necklace that he always wore.

"Oh dad, no.  That's your cross!  You love that cross."

"I also love my little girl.  The cross is gold, the chain is gold, Jesus is white gold.  It's gotta be worth something.  And I want you to promise me - if something happens, you pawn it.  Promise me?"

"I love you, dad.  We'll be fine, I promise."  I hug him.  He wraps his arms around me like he used to when I was little, before it was "uncool."  We both wanna cry but we're both strong and stubborn heart-broken fools.

"I'll take it because it's pretty and I love you.  But I promise you will get it back someday."

"I love you, sweetie.  I'm so proud of you."

We left in a blur that day, so overwhelmed with change and fear and excitement and goodbye.  I remember waving goodbye to dad and watching him wave from the porch until I couldn't see him anymore, blowing kisses just like he used to when I was little.  I always hated saying goodbye to my dad.  My dog, Percy, just laid in the driveway and watched me go. She knew what was going on and she knew I wouldn't be taking her with me.  The house I grew up in and the life I had always lived faded into a trail of dust behind us.  But the biggest part of my life was sitting right beside me and leaving that country road behind me was the most liberating feeling--it was that "it" moment that I had been counting down to literally my entire life.