On Separation

I wonder if my dad tasted a sweet lump of separation in 1981 when he realized it might be the last time he and I would spend an extended period of time together in his professional environment.

It happened to me earlier this month.  The ride to work, the walk into the office, the agreement that my son and I would catch up to talk about the day’s activities after we’d settled in, and the knowledge that he’d be around to fulfill his duties as an intern were all in the past.  In their places were the quiet emptiness of the passenger seat, the absence of his soft footfalls up the stairwell from the parking garage, and the fading memory of his bleary morning smile as he strode off toward his cubicle around the corner and I to my office down the hall.  As I settled into my routine, I found myself recalling the many ways that he made my job easier this summer and how special it was to have someone so close to me there to lend a hand wherever he could.

Seeing my son make a significant contribution in my professional environment made his absence more acute.  When he started, I was worried that I’d be able to find enough work for him to do and that it would be interesting and relevant to his studies.  But before long he was fully engaged with other young engineers in the office.  He made friends easily.  He demonstrated a knack for data analysis.  And he picked up the rhythm of the office and worked independently.  Weeks before it was time for him to head back to school I realized it was going to be a tough adjustment back to office life without him.

With my dad it wasn’t a matter of working together, but there was a longer period of time when I was a part of his professional life.  All four years of my undergraduate education were spent at the university where he was a professor.  I’d drop by his office to say hello, we’d grab a bite to eat at the student union, on weekends I might go home and ride back to school with him on Monday, and best of all – I was able to enroll in one of his classes.

At the end of those four years, I’m sure there was a period of adjustment for him too.  He probably missed the rides to work together, the shared walks from the parking lot, and the occasional lunches.  I’m guessing that he would have missed our classroom time as professor and student the most.  As a person who loved the college experience so intensely that he chose to never leave that setting, I’m certain that he relished the opportunity to share the teaching experience with me in the classroom.  Maybe it hit him hardest during the final hour of that last class when I was happily looking forward to the next semester and he was anticipating seeing another student sitting in my seat.

I wonder if he felt like I do now.  I’d rather retain the ache of separation than let it fade.  It’s a good ache.  It tells me that the memory of working with my son is still fresh.  Soon I know that the details will blur as time passes and memories of other events accumulate.  I’ll recall the broad strokes of working together, but not the intricate details of specific projects, the subtle inside jokes about co-workers, or the specifics of his accomplishments.  As often happens, the generic memory will likely be one of a happy and special time that we shared together.

Maybe the broad strokes of our time together at work will be strong enough to elicit that lump in my throat years hence.  In the case of my memories of life at the university with my father the events of four years seem like a movie reel labeled, “university days with Dad.”   When I think back to those times, special events pop up like still photos in my mind as the film spins along and I attempt to focus on the details.  For me, the memories elicit nostalgic feelings of happy times past but not a lump in the throat.  Would that I could ask my dad how memories of those times affect him all these years later, but that opportunity was lost with his passing some 23 years ago now – a loss that still elicits its own unique ache.

One never knows what events will have a lasting impact on others.  We don’t know how our words or actions will be perceived or remembered or what influence they’ll have on others.  What we do know is how we feel when we recall significant events – either good or bad.  For me, memories of hurtful things said or done to a loved one can elicit a lump in the throat similar to happy times.  Whether associated with the memory of my father’s passing, the return of my daughter around the world to Shanghai after a visit home, hurtful things said to a loved one, or the conclusion of my son’s internship, I think the poignant emotion that exhibits itself as a lump in my throat is one of departure, distance, and separation. 

I’ll try to hold onto the sweet aches of separation associated with happy times so as to recall the positive influences that those events have had on my psyche.  And, I have no choice but to also live with my mind’s insistence on recalling those unhappy events when I’ve created bitter separations as life lessons for how to be a better person.