Leaving Home

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Leaving Home

On the surface it was just like any other hot August day in Nashville, but for me it was a day with mercurial-like emotions ranging from the high of the excitement about my son's departure, to a mid-level of nostalgia and memories, and finally to a low of sadness and emptiness.

My first born, my son, having reached 18 years of age was leaving home. He was going to college. This particular morning Todd was very much on my mind as I arose early to help him get packed and ready to go. I was not expecting this to be an overly emotional day, yet the memories overwhelmed me.

I remembered the first day his mother and I dropped him off at kindergarten and how we too felt strange and overly concerned and sad; I remembered his Bar Mitzvah when he stood before his family, friends, and community at the tender age of thirteen and recited with perfection his portion of our Holy Scripture, thereby entering Jewish adulthood. Then too, I noted a lump in my throat and a tug at my heart.

I remembered the times we spent alone and