12 hours

That's how long I was gone on Friday. And in 12 hours everything changed.

There's an empty place at the table now, and a sadness in our hearts.

Tommy's last few hours at home were not as crazy as I expected. We had sent his luggage ahead with a delivery service, so there wasn't much last-minute packing. But John had gone in to work in the early morning and arrived home only about 20 minutes before the train was scheduled to leave. Luckily, the station is only about 10 minutes away.

So the farewell blessing had to be given in the car on the way to the train station. Not quite the way I had imagined it, but it was too important to skip. Since John was driving, I read the "Blessing on Leaving Home for School, Employment, or Ministry" from Catholic Household Blessings and Prayers.

I think there is a reason that fathers usually give blessings. I only got as far as the introduction before my voice broke. It was just too hard to read the words, "Gathering all our memories of good times and difficulties together, and full of hope and concern for the days ahead, let us ask God's blessing on Tommy." I got to "good times" before I cried.

There were a few damp eyes on all parts at the train station. The hugs and handshakes and baby high fives were many. But there wasn't much time, and we had to hurry to the platform.

My tears started again on the train, so I got out my trusty rosary and started in, which was very calming. After a decade or so, we had to change trains. The Shinkansen (bullet train) is fast and comfortable (and air conditioned!). Tommy and I kept busy: he, writing a few remaining graduation thank yous, filling out his voter registration form, and working on a checking account application. I, going through his senior year papers and exams to be sure I had all my questions answered while he was still nearby. We arrived in Tokyo in less than four hours and switched for the airport express train.

At the airport, he picked up his luggage, checked himself in, and joined me for lunch. Then I saw him to the gate. He's getting good at security by now. He had packed his soda tab bracelet and other metal in his checked bags, and he had his shoes off and laptop out. He and the guard had a chuckle over the shoes because in Japan you don't have to take them off in the security gate--which is kinda funny if you think about it. We remove our shoes in a lot of other places here, even restaurants, but apparently not at the airport. He put his shoes back on and headed toward the metal detector.

He turned and smiled and raised his hand in a wave. Then he went through the gate on the way to his new life.

And then my tears flowed freely.

It's not so much that I don't want him to grow up or leave home. Or that I don't like where he's going. Because he is going to do a very good thing. But not an easy thing. And we won't be there to help. There's not much you can really do from a continent away...except pray.

Saint Monica, pray for us!