I left my Arkansas hometown last Sunday and headed south for Gulf Breeze. Saying goodbye is always a bittersweet mix of gratitude for the time together and heartache for leaving.
As I drove away, It occurred to me that Southerners are the best at goodbye. I say that confidently, of course, but it should be noted I’ve never said goodbye in a Kansas driveway.
All my life, everyone in the home gathered in the driveway when it was time to leave, making the rounds with hugs and kisses, salutations, and proclamations to “Be safe,” ending with directives to “Call and let us know you made it okay.”
Depending on the occasion and participants, there may be last-minute memory jogs for sharing recipes or looking up something in a family history book. If my Dad or grandfather were in the group, they would always eyeball my tires and ask me how much gas was in my tank.
The last night home, my Dad wanted to follow me to the gas station to put gas in my car. I think he was mildly disappointed to know that it was already full. As I was walking out the door, he pulled out his wallet and started giving me money. Gas. Oil change. Tire check. Money. It’s how good Dads say goodbye.
And I can assure you, no one ever walked into the house prematurely. If you were the stayers, you stayed until the car was out of sight. And for that, I am grateful, because my mind’s eye forever holds the precious images I saw through my rearview mirror.
Can I tell you what they had on the night I left for the first prom or the day I drove away to college? No. But I can promise you it looked identical to every other time I left. People who loved me hardest and deepest waved their love into the wind, propelling me forward in a way that gave me freedom to go, yet left me feeling solid and anchored about the place I’d just left.
Now that I have teenagers driving and adulting, I deeply understand how hard it was to watch me drive away. Some knowledge cannot be understood until it is experienced firsthand. Over the coming days and weeks, some of you will stand in driveways, as your children drive off into the horizon. It will be the hardest goodbye you ever wave.
Without even trying, my people have given me a place I knew I could always come home to, without the guilt or sense of obligation of having to. Anchored, yet untethered. Held, but free.
And then my realization came full circle, it isn’t that Southerners are the best at saying goodbye, it’s that they’re the absolute best at making it hard to leave.
