By: Marilyn Sprague-Smith, M.Ed., CLL

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”
—Kahlil Gibran, Lebanese-American Poet
Author of The Prophet

In the realm of human relationships, love is a catalyst for creating sweet and bittersweet memories and expressing joy and sorrow, laughter and tears. This is a true love story where history repeats itself and laughter comes after the tears.

I remember prolonged, teary good-byes between Grandma and my mother every time we visited the farm and we were getting ready to go back to the city. My two sisters and I were sitting in the backseat of the car, Dad was behind the steering wheel, and all of us were peering out the windshield watching Mom and Grandma. Grandpa, having said his stoic good-byes, would step back to give Grandma and Mom space.

Grandma put on a brave smile, Mom reached out to hug Grandma and then they both began to cry. When my mother got into the car, Dad didn’t say anything. He simply held out a clean, white handkerchief, started the engine, put the transmission in low gear, and began to inch the car forward. He muttered something about deep ruts in the road and having to drive slowly, but my sisters and I knew he was giving Mom more time to wave good-bye to Grandma. And Grandpa stood behind Grandma, as Mom and Grandma continued waving good-bye to each other until we reached the main road.

It may have been only a couple of miles before Mom broke the thick silence, yet from our backseat perspective, it seemed like an eternity. She would blow her nose and take a deep breath. With a nervous giggle she’d say, “We had a nice visit, didn’t we?” “Yup,” Dad said as he glanced sideways to catch Mom’s eyes. Then, he returned his gaze to the road in front of him. In the backseat, we breathed a sigh of relief and snuggled together for comfort.

For years, my sisters and I talked about how silly we thought they were. What was such a big deal about saying good-bye? We vowed we’d “never be like that.”

Last week, history repeated itself.

I was alone in the backseat of the car. My sister was behind the steering wheel and her only child, Rob, was in the front passenger seat. We were going to the airport. Rob was returning to Albuquerque after sharing the first holiday with his mother since his dad’s untimely death in October.

As we pulled up to the curb outside the terminal, I jumped out of the car to say my good-byes to Rob. Then, I got back into the car, giving my sister space to be with Rob, just like Grandpa used to do for Grandma.

A single glance at my sister’s face as she climbed into the car reminded me of Grandma. And I understood teary good-byes are a mother’s way of expressing the depth of her love.

As we pulled away from the airport terminal, I handed my sister a fistful of tissues and helped myself to some too. Her heartache was becoming my heartache. The silence was heavy.

Several miles down the road and after we both used up wads of tissues, I said, “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yup,” she gulped. I handed her more tissues.

We drove a while longer, in silence.

“Remember when we went to visit Grandma and Grandpa on the farm?”

“Yup,” she said as the glimmer of a brave smile sheathed her face.

“Here we are, just like Mom and Grandma.”

Through the tears came laughter. For the next hour and half, we drove along the interstate sharing a cycle of tears and laughter.

I now understand the true meaning of Kahlil Gibran’s

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

Love is sweet. And love hurts. Yet, after the tears, comes laughter. Happy Valentine’s Day! C’mon, Let’s laugh!