Thought about my daddy this morning. Not sure why he came to mind, but he’s always welcome.
This morning’s memory was of his goodbyes. He never said goodbye. I can’t recall a single time he actually used the word when departing. Whether we were separating for a couple of hours, or a couple of weeks, he always said the same thing: “So long!” He’d smile showing all his teeth, although the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. We’d wave, go our separate ways.
I always did a double take, as if somehow a second look would ensure so long really meant it was time to go, but only temporarily. Remembering it now makes me as sad as it did then.
I think I asked him once, about why he never said goodbye.
Perhaps he said he doesn’t like goodbye. As if goodbye were too formal or too final. So long implied a reunion was imminent. That it was so long until I see you again, but the seeing you again part was definitely going to happen.
I don’t know.
He never said goodbye.