Goodbye to Brittney

I very recently left a very serious relationship, and moved back across the country towards my parents home.

I'll never forget having to tell his children I was going away, and I wasn't going to live there anymore.

I held his little girl, all of six years old, while she sobbed and wailed and shook. She couldn't wrap her mind around it, of course. "But you're like, my other Mommy," she said. "Mommies don't go away."

"I'm still gonna love you, you know. And I'll call you on the telephone so you can tell me what happened at school and if you're married to Travis yet." At the moment, he's also six. This evoked a pathetic little half smile from her tired face that made me feel even worse.

At that moment, my father called from a pay phone nearby to let me know he had arrived in town with the Ryder truck, and get directions exactly to the door. We lived in a little area that had probably a hundred matching apartment buildings, a little gas station, a post office, and a mini-supermarket. That's the whole town.

Everything in this little village was within walking distance, so I told him I'd walk to the supermarket he was calling from and ride with him to the apartment, since it would be easier to find. They would all look the same to him. Needle in a haystack thing.

As I put the phone back in the cradle, I realized that she was standing right behind me, listening. Her eyes brimming with tears, but squinting from the light at the same time, she stammered, "A-re y-you going away r-right right now?"

I kneeled down and said, "No, baby. I still have to get some things together, then we have to put them in the truck. I've still got some time left." I winked.

A real smile.

Then more tears.

She was realizing.

She asked me if she could walk with me to my dad. I said, "Of course, let's get your jacket."

Five minutes and twenty buttons, two shoelaces later, we headed out the front door, hand in hand, both of us trying to stay tearless for the other. We began walking towards the store, when suddenly her face became very solemn and concerned.

"Where are you going TO?" she asked.

"Tennessee. We used to live there, remember?"

Her little face quickly turned from me to stare at the ground. Her whole frail body seemed to be pondering this. How does a world change in one day? Doesn't it matter if you love someone, don't they have to stay there if you do?

All I could do is watch the questions forming.

Another few steps, and a very pregnant pause.

Her tiny, weak-sounding voice mustered up all it had left in it, and she glanced back up into my face, searching for something to shine through to her confusion and take it away. She challenged me squarely in the eye, and asked her question.

"If we're going to Tennessee, can we stop sometimes? My feet are sorta tired."


I still have her with me on days like these.

That is family, to me.