ONLINE CHURCH BULLETIN

LEAVING HOME

John Trent

High school was over, and I'd been up almost all night, first saying good-bye to my few remaining high school friends and then packing for college myself. Now I sat at our old kitchen table with my mother, enjoying her pancakes one last time before climbing into my jam-packed car. As I sat at the table, a flood of emotions hit me.

My mother had purchased the table when I was five years old. It sat next to the large kitchen window, with a commanding view of the front yard. For more than a decade, it served as the unofficial meeting place of the Trent family. In grade school, I can remember sitting there at countless dinners. There would be us three boys laughing and chattering about our day, my mother and grandmother scurrying back and forth to keep bottomless plates filled, and my grandfather quietly presiding over the chaos.

In high school, the table became the place where I could sit with my mother, anytime, day or night. There she would patiently listen to whatever "crisis" or problem I was having in school or dating. That old table proudly displayed birthday cards as we grew older and solemnly bore the flowers we brought home from the funeral the day my grandfather was laid to rest.

Over the years, more chairs began to empty. My older brother, Joe, married and began a home of his own. My grandmother went to live with my aunt, and my twin brother, Jeff, left for a different college. Now it was down to just Mom and me, sitting at the table one last time.

I can remember how well I thought she was handling that morning. No tears. No dip in her always present smile. Just that nonstop encouragement that has calmed my fears since I was a child and always made me feel like I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. Things like driving a thousand miles by myself to a new college and making a new start without knowing a single person at an out-of-state school.

I finished breakfast, hugged the best mom in the world, and confidently strode to my '64 forest green Volkswagon. Every square inch was crammed with "important stuff" for college - everything from my legendary record collection to my new, seldom-used razor. I jumped inside the car, fired up the engine, and drove off with a wave and a smile. I was on my way! Nothing was going to stop me now! Nothing, that is, except driving into the rising sun that quickly made me realize I'd forgotten one thing - my sunglasses on the night stand.

I turned the car around, drove back into the driveway, and walked in to find my mother still sitting at the kitchen table, crying. All morning she had kept a stiff upper lip, managing to hold her emotions in check at seeing her last son leave home. But when I walked back in the door unexpectedly, all that changed. There was an awkward silence, and then we both lost it. We sat at that table, crowded with memories, hugged each other, and cried and cried.

I can't explain exactly what happened that sun-splashed morning in the kitchen, but our relationship changed. There was no less love, no less caring, but somehow we both knew that this would be the last time I would sit down at that old kitchen table as a child.