| Sunny Side Up April 24, 2002 �2002, Kathleen Gibson Always leave �a piece of you� behind� Anita hugged me extra long, and Lyndsay waved and blew kisses through the car window until it pulled out of sight behind the neighbours� houses. I don�t suppose I�ll ever get used to the resounding silence after the departure of loved guests who�ve stayed for a few days. Or the hollow, heavy feeling that sits squarely over the chest. It�s as physical as a bruised elbow, only it�s totally untreatable. Oh, it seeps out the bottom of the soul in a few hours, but until it does, even a fine home seems a lonely cavern. I wandered through the rooms, looking for anything �my girls� may have left behind. Aha, a surprise. Not a forgotten toothbrush or a pair of limp socks under the bed, but a small, square, terra cotta colored card. On its front, the words Thank and You, cut from a magazine, were glued above and below a corrugated cardboard star. To the left, a curl of paper from a charcoal art pencil bounced cheerfully. I lifted the flap. Coils of the finest silver wire decorated the bottom left corner. Exquisitely penned letters read�.. �Thanks for being a second family to me. ..� I smiled�noticed that bruised feeling in my chest didn�t seem quite so sharp. The last time I visited my parents for a few weeks I left something too�I always do. I knew that my mother (from whom I picked up the habit many years ago) would be searching my room the moment she�d finished waving good-bye. She�d look on the dresser and the mirror, lift my pillow. But this time, just to tease, I left my �piece of me� in the closet, sure she�d look there when the usual places proved empty. My sister, who lives near our parents, called the next day. �Didn�t you leave anything behind?� she demanded. �Because Mom called, about ready to cry. She says she turned the house upside down, looking for your �piece of you�. Dad even helped, but they couldn�t find anything. She thinks you forgot.� I felt horrid. I could picture my elderly parents scuttling hither and yon, like children on the hunt for a certain treasure�that lonely feeling rattling about on the inside of them; knowing that what they�d find would help ease it, and then�nothing. I called them immediately, told them where to find the �treasure��a carton of chocolate eggs and a card. They were chuckling when we hung up. Life is full of leavings. Some are expected, some knock us to the pavement in the sudden gust of their liftoffs; sending us scrambling for sentimental scraps, even while surrounded by things we thought were so valuable. Always try to leave behind a �piece of you� for the ones waving farewell at the door. Only remember not to hide it too well. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |