Last Dispatch from America

I'm looking across the concourse now out into the New York skyline 15-odd miles away and it's still not real. It comes in flashes... trying to explain to Jacob for the final time that I was going to be away for awhile. Izak and Rebecca crying with me. Saying goodbye to my father... hell, even writing about it. But it's still not quite real.

Saying goodbye to Jacob was the hardest. His denials that I was leaving are my only clue that he kind of understands. My attempts to illustrate how long a year is by browsing through a calander were a bit futile in retrospect. "You'll be five when I come back home," didn't seem to sink either; "but I'm four..."

Last night I was feeling really selfish. I'm missing some of the best years of Jacob's life before he turns into a rotten brat like the others. I'm flying out while Carson undergoes chemo in Wolfson's. I really can't convince myself this is anything other than some elaborate scheme to get someone else to subsidize a prolonged vacation. I'll get over it though.

I told Izak there was a signficant amount of good in us closing things out, this chapter anyway, on our own terms instead of letting things just fade away with benign neglect. Every moment I've spent with family and friends over the past few weeks has been held in the highest esteem in my mind, not a moment wasted, not a word left unsaid that needed to come out. I'm going to miss everyone like hell and I needed that. Maybe we all needed it. You don't recognize what things mean till they're gone.

I leave you with two pictures. The first is my last view of Jacksonville. The second is my view out the window of the Manhatten skyline as I type this.

Much love.