My mother, Doris, grew up in the Tacoma area of Washington. My dad met her there while he was stationed nearby toward the end of World War II. After they married and he was discharged from the service, he brought her to Medford, Oregon, where he had grown up. I was born very soon after.
They kept having children until there were five of us. I came first, followed by Allen about a year and a half later. After a gap, Doug was born in 1952, Curt in 1953, and Karen in 1954.
Mom’s family still lived in the Seattle area, and I remember only a time or two when we made what felt then like a long drive to visit Grandma and Art, our step-grandfather, along with our aunts and uncles. One of my clearest memories from those trips was the emotion that came when it was time to say goodbye. Tears flowed, and Mom cried for the first few miles of the trip back to Medford. I’m quite sure that her sisters were doing the same for a while after watching us leave. The distance may not seem great by today’s standards, but I’m sure Mom and her sisters wondered whether they would ever see each other again.
We experienced a similar kind of goodbye earlier in June, as we came home from Oregon after visiting most of Allen’s kids. As we made our way toward our rented car and began saying goodbye, there were emotional hugs and kisses, accompanied by tears. Then, as we started the drive back to Portland for our flight home to Southern California, we headed down the hill from Cindy’s house and heard a loud chorus of “I love you” from Allen’s kids. Of course, we returned the gesture, calling, “We love you,” right back as we slowed but had to continue down the hill.
It reminded me so much of our childhood departures from Washington after visits with Grandma, Aunt Muggsy, and Aunt May.