I think I know how Dad must have felt. Each car-driven mile signified the end of a family reunion visit. Every mile north closer to the reality that he must return to responsibility, to this life he'd carved out for himself, his wife, his children; seeking something more than those rocky, rugged mountains could offer. Yet torn. Aching inside knowing that part of him would always remain in those mountains. His roots. His history. His precious family. He must have always wondered when he might return... Under what circumstances? Crisis? Joy? Another reunion? With funeral clothes packed away in the suitcase?
I felt it, too. Every mile tearing at my heart as we drove further away from my loved ones, cherishing the newly-created memories in my mind, and holding tight to the old ones.
