Saying Good-bye

He flew B-17’s in World War II and came home to Tennessee, where he married and started a family. Four children eventually blessed his household. Mr. Farrar became a leader in the community, the church, and in his home. He was a good man, in any way that you can measure goodness.

His fourth child, the youngest by several years, married right after college and moved far away from home. She never lived in Tennessee again. Married to a preacher, quick weekend trips home were not an option, but she faithfully visited her parents as much as she could. A week in the summer and several days at Christmas.

At some point the daughter noticed that whenever time came to say good-bye, her father would be gone. Milking cows, out on a tractor, somewhere on the back 40, he was never around when they loaded up the car and headed back to Ohio. At some point she simply realized, “Daddy does not want to be here when we leave. He does not want to say good-bye.”

I thought about Ike Farrar last week as I drove my son, the youngest of our three by several years, to graduate school in New Haven, Connecticut. That is a long way from Tennessee.

For all those parents a little tender these days, as they send their first child off to kindergarten or their youngest to college, take it from Ike and me. It really doesn’t get any easier.

Saying good-bye never is.