Another goodbye

 I took a picture of my parents before boarding the return train toward the United States.  I always do.

I keep several pictures of my parents from different train stations where we've parted.  And if I looked through the photo albums at home, I would find similar pictures that I took of my grandparents.

The pictures mean we will see each other again.  Or certainly hope to.

Distance breeds its little superstitions.  For years, my mom kept a dollar in her wallet. "As long as I have the dollar with me, I know I will see you again," she would say.  When she lost the dollar - or spent it by mistake - my dad gave her a double-watch that keeps track of time in both France and the US.  As long as she has her watch, we'll see each other again.

I had not planned for a life abroad.  Fate took its own course after I spent a year of graduate school at UT Austin.  Ever since, life has been a long series of arrivals and departures, and the weekly Sunday phone calls, the birthday cards, the twice-a-year packages that don't always make it in one piece and the occasional e-mails.

My parents called us at the hotel in Lyon, and again at the hotel in Paris.  I've cried both times.  It'll get better in a few days when I get to Houston and life takes over.  Until next time.