Miss Me, But Let Me Go

I remember when I had been away at college my first semester, and my family came to pick me up from the bus I had ridden through snow and ice all the way up from Rexburg, Idaho--we stopped at a shopping mall my sisters wanted to visit, and everyone started to go their separate ways to look in various stores. 

As this happened, I felt intense panic--I wanted everyone to stay together. I knew it was irrational, that we were all just a few steps away from each other, but I just wanted to be able to see everyone. Even though it had been my choice to go far away to college, I had missed my parents and sisters too much, and now that we were back together, I didn't want them out of my sight.

I know that this type of separation anxiety runs in my family. Whenever we've visited my parents, my dad has never wanted us to leave--he would want to show us just one more thing, feed us one more thing, or give us one more thing to take home. 

When my mom and I drove away from the hospital on August 22, I felt this way, too. It felt wrong to drive away, knowing that we would never come back to pick up my dad. I hadn't seen him since the previous weekend, and I already missed him too much. How could I let him go?

On Tuesday at our graveside service for my dad, my brother-in-law read this poem by Christina Rossetti:

When I come to the end of the road,

And the sun has set for me,

I want no rites in a gloom-filled room

Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little--but not long.

And not with your head bowed low.

Remember the love that once we shared.

Miss me, but let me go.

Like my dad, I'm not good at letting go--but also like him, I know that sometimes I just have to leave. 

I hope that in time we will be able to remember him but let him go, even while we miss being able to see him and have him with us here.