Having concluded my visit to my son in Germany and returned to Minnesota, I find myself in need of restoring a regular sleep schedule. It has only been eight weeks since our last meeting. However, upon his return, he was accompanied by numerous friends and relatives from Minnesota, resulting in a diminished sense of his presence compared to my trip.
During my stay in Germany, we engaged in enjoyable activities and shared laughter. Except one day, Christiana, a young woman he was dating, accompanied us. She possesses a gentle and balanced disposition. She is an 18-year-old German woman with a radiant smile, yet she rarely displays it. This observation extends to the general German populace, as I noticed a lack of overt happiness or signs of weariness. When we visited various establishments and restaurants, their conversations were lively, yet few smiles or laughs accompanied them. I believe I heard only a single person laugh throughout the entire city, excluding my son and myself.
This phenomenon is perplexing, considering the prevalence of laughter in the United States. In the United States, it is relatively easy to encounter individuals who embody the spectrum of life, as I define it. They appeared to be in excellent physical health. Given this observation, it is surprising that I did not perceive a significant number of laughs in the vicinity, despite the hardships they may be facing.
I had a difficult departure from Germany. It wasn’t complicated, but emotionally. I cried. Leaving my son in Germany, knowing it would be at least six months before I saw him again, was more complicated than any other time we had parted. Maybe it was because we had so much fun together. It’s been years since he got his driver’s license, and we just hung out and had a great time. The tears came more easily when I realized I had raised a fine young man: independent, intelligent, able to handle diversity, and still respectful and hardworking.
As a 46-year-old male, I found myself struggling to suppress tears on the train and airplane journeys to the airport. Despite my maturity, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of worry, akin to that of any parent concerned for their child. The distance between us weighed heavily on my mind, and I couldn’t shake the thought of his relationship with Christiana. While she is an exceptional individual, relationships are inherently transient. The prospect of their eventual end filled me with apprehension, and I grappled with the challenges of offering solace to him when he was thousands of miles away. The pain of my first significant relationship served as a poignant reminder of the fragility of love and the importance of cherishing our connections.
To this day, I vividly recall the first “real” love I experienced, the one I believed to be the one. Her name was Sheri Fjelstad, and I always thought she was the one for me. However, she didn’t reciprocate my feelings. (I recall seeing similar teenage love looks between Jordan and Christiana when I was 19, and Shari was 17.) She abruptly ended our relationship without explanation. A year later, I called her to ask why, and she threatened to refer me to someone else if I didn’t call her again. From that moment on, I became guarded in my relationships. Almost three decades later, I still don’t comprehend the reason behind her actions. A few years later, I wrote a song about her.
The lyrics are as follows.
Sunrise whispered over the old red barn
Rusted tractor left out in the yard
Morning coffee, just a little too cold
Your memory still haunts, it won't grow old
Your faded denim jacket hangs by the door
Boots by the fireplace, they don't stomp anymore
The radio plays our favorite song
But without you here, it feels so wrong
What made you leave without saying goodbye
Left me wondering, left me asking why
The echoes of your laughter still linger near
What made you leave without shedding a tear
We carved our names in that old oak tree
Promised each other, it was always you and me
But those initials now feel like lies
Another dream gone under the endless skies
Neighbors whisper they don't know the cost
Of waking each day with a heart that's lost
Every corner of this town holds a trace
Of the life we built is now an empty space
What made you leave without saying goodbye
Left me wondering, left me asking why
The echoes of your laughter still linger near
What made you leave without shedding a tear
What made you leave without saying goodbye
Left me wondering, left me asking why
The echoes of your laughter still linger near
What made you leave without shedding a tear
Looking back, I realize my life is better because she ended things. If we had stayed together, I might not have taken this same 27-year journey (grad school, moving several times to advance my career, and so on). Heck, I guess my son wouldn’t be here. But I remember thinking life was over. What else is there, I thought? So, I hope he understands that this might work out or not; either way, he has a whole life ahead of him. I didn’t see it that way when I was 19, and Sheri left without saying goodbye.
I recently heard a song by Brad Paisley that also hits this issue to the heart. It is called a “Letter to me”. It is about writing to himself about everything that seemed like the end of his life when he was 17. Or what he can look forward to as a result of those decisions. Part of the song goes:
And then I'd say, I know it's tough
When you break up after seven months
And yeah I know you really liked her and it just don't seem fair
All I can say is pain like that is fast and it's rare
And oh you got so much going for you going right
But I know at 17 it's hard to see past Friday night
She wasn't right for you
And still you feel like there's a knife sticking out of your back
And you're wondering if you'll survive
You'll make it through this and you'll see
You're still around to write this letter to me
As I write this part of the post, I feel a mix of emotions, including a sense of goofiness and a few tears. I’m grateful that no one is sitting next to me to witness my emotional outburst. However, loving someone deeply is a truly special experience in life.
In my mind, there’s no stronger love than that of a parent and child. My bond with my son is particularly close, and I feel a deep sense of connection with him. When his mother moved to Colorado when he was 10, we spent most of our waking hours together. We are close, at least I believe so.
Over the years, I’ve had relationships with other people, but none of them have ever compared to the dedication and love I have for my son. Not since Shari abruptly disappeared have I experienced such a profound connection with another human.
This realization has made me contemplate more than just human relationships and love. It’s also made me think about running and exercise in general. I’ve always been an avid runner, and I know how important it is for my well-being. Some people have a passion for running, a strong spirit, and a different kind of love for it than that for a human. For others, it’s simply a drug of choice, a license to live, or something they have no other options for.
Regardless of the reason, I wish I could look forward to many things, such as seeing someone or engaging in an activity. I eagerly anticipate seeing and talking to my son. But then again, as a true father, I know that my love for him is unconditional, and I’m committed to being the father he deserves.
Carry on my friends, carry on!
Glad to hear that you had the opportunity to share such a close time of bonding with your son, but sorry that leaving him was so tough. Thursday, February 19, 2009 at 9:45:00 PM CST
No comments:
Post a Comment