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Taking one last look in my rear view mirror, I finally do it. I pull out from the curb and drive away from the only house I've ever lived in. My dad stands there, watching me go, getting smaller in the blurry distance.
Damn it.
This is even harder than I knew it would be.
Tears wet my face and I swipe them away so I can see where I’m going. It definitely wouldn’t be a good look to crash and burn before I even get to the end of my own street. I manage to reach the corner of Elm and Main in one piece and, as I’m waiting for the light to change, I press the call button on my phone, which is perched on its holder on the dashboard.
Hannah answers on the first ring. “Hi, sweetie.”
“This is it. I’m really doing it.” My sister is basically an extension of my own soul. She’s also my grief counselor and my best friend, all rolled into one feisty little UCLA film student who hardly ever comes home. Our calls are a necessary form of therapy and have been ever since she moved to the west coast to go to college two years ago. We were going through some pretty heavy grief at the time and we made a promise to talk as often as we can.
“I know what you’re feeling, Zee. I’ve been there.”
I’ve just driven away from my childhood home. I’ve officially moved out and I’m on my way to start college. “It’s so surreal that it’s finally happening, this major milestone in my life. I’m feeling it so much.”
“Of course you are. And I’m feeling it right along with you.”
“It’s strange when you’re fully aware that you’re going through one of these monumental life events that you’ll remember forever—and that it’s happening to you right now.”
“It’s a big deal, honey.”
I wipe away another tear. “I don’t know why I’m even crying. I’m literally moving three miles down the road. I’ll still see him all the time.”
“It doesn’t matter how far away it is. The premise is still the same as if you were moving to the other side of the country. You’re leaving, and you’re allowed to feel all the emotions that go along with that.”
“I miss you, Han.”
“I miss you too, Zee. You’re going to be fine. You’re about to have the time of your life. It’s college, girlfriend. It’s so much fun.”
“I know it will be.” Still, I’m leaving my dad to fend for himself after everything that’s happened. I glance in the rear view mirror before I turn the corner. “Oh god, Han. He’s still standing there.”
“He’ll be fine and so will you.”
“This isn’t going to be easy for him.”
“We can take turns checking in on him every day. It’s not like we can’t talk to him every hour if we want to.”
“I know.” I promised him I’d come home every Sunday and make him my specialty lasagna. It’s our tradition. But still. My dad and I are close. I have a closer relationship with him than Hannah does, mainly because she lives three thousand miles away. My dad and I have had to live with my mother’s ghost more directly. Every corner of our big, rambling house is filled to the brim with her vibrant, beautiful, heart-breaking memories.
Because of that, my dad and I have been each other’s rocks for a long time now and leaving him is…a lot.
He loved my mother so much. It was one of those love at first sight stories he loves to tell us. He was a football player and she was a waitress at one of the campus restaurants at Notre Dame. She spilled coffee on him.
When you know, you know, he’s always telling me. And he knew.
My mother died of a particularly aggressive form of lymphoma almost two years ago. Very soon after that, Hannah left for California and we were glad she did. She needed that change of scene like a lifeline.
But I missed her terribly, especially since we’d gone from a family of four to just me and my dad at home. The only way I could fill the void was by talking to her often and by pouring my emotions onto endless canvases through my paintbrushes. It’s what I do. It’s my passion, my outlet and, along with gushing to my sister on a daily basis, my primary form of therapy. It’s the reason I decided to major in fine arts, because it’s what I spend all my time doing. I figured I might as well try to channel my obsession into a career.
I’m a dreamy, artistic, mostly-introverted and occasionally fun-loving Pisces. But the past two years have been hard. High school was mostly about coping and making sure my dad wasn’t falling off the deep-end of his own sorrow.
“Besides,” Hannah says, “It’s not like Dad’s alone alone. He’s got his friends. Does Jim still come over?”
“Every night.” Jim lives next door. He and my dad watch football highlights every evening, arguing happily about stats and plays. They were both briefly in the NFL. My dad was a running back for the Dolphins for three months before a knee injury took him out for good. He’s been coaching ever since and got a job as the head coach of the Hawthorne University Wildcats sixteen years ago—which is as far back as my memories go.
“He’s also got his assistant coaches,” Hannah points out. Which is true. The NCAA allows him to have like ten of them or something, along with four or five graduate assistants, and they all idolize him. “He’s surrounded by what basically amounts to a fan club and entourage. And he’s got his football players, of course.”
“But it’s not the same as having your own child who loves you, making sure you’re okay, day in and day out.” That’s the part that hits differently. It’s the nights I worry about.
