When I left home in the fall of 1967, I had no idea what went on in my father’s heart — until much later, that is, when our son Carlos moved away. The sadness that engulfed my heart was such that nothing seemed the same again. It was as if a piece of myself had left my body for good. He had lived with us in our home while going to college, but even after that, I knew I could see him anytime I wished, since he only lived a couple of blocks away.

    Although I was sad when I left home, my heart was set on my new dream. I was overloaded with anticipation for the new place, the new possibilities, the new horizons, the new friends and the money I was going to make, etc., etc. ... But, when you are the father, the one who stays behind, you wonder how will you ever be able to live without that little guy who has meant so much to you for so long. That one whom you have known since he was living in his mother’s body; when you felt him kick, and then the joy you experienced when he came into the world.

I must look to the beauty of each new day, and silently give thanks.

    Oh, the times we had together in the evenings — when we played Star Wars or read C. S. Lewis stories and prayed together! The hardships he endured when he accompanied me on mission trips; his first bike, his first guitar. The loud and senseless music he liked, and how he tried to explain to me how meaningful it was to kids his age. If you have not developed a lump in your throat yet, then your boy has not left home.

    The bottom line was: I had lost my boy. Yes, I lost my boy, the same way my dad lost me. This is a poem found in the pocket of an eighty year-old father. Even though his son had left home ages ago, to him it seemed as if it were yesterday:

Hold fast the summer. It is the beauty of the day and all it contains.
The laughter and work and finally the sleep. The quiet.
Oh September, do not put your weight upon my mind.
For I know he will be going.
This son of mine who is now a man — he must go.
Time will lace my thoughts with joyous years.
The walls will echo his “Hello”. His caring will be around each corner.
His tears will be tucked into our memory book.
Life calls him beyond our reach — to different walls.
New faces, shiny halls, shy smiles, many places.
Greater learning — he must go.
But wait, before he leaves, be sure he knows you love him.
Hide the lump in your throat as you hug him.
He will soon be home again — but he will be different.
The little boy will have disappeared.
How I wished I could take September and shake it, for it came too soon
I must look to the beauty of each new day, and silently give thanks.