The Family Farewell

I don't remember it being the case in my own family.  Maybe I was just to young to remember, but saying goodbye to my husband's extended family is at least an hour-long affair.  It starts with the knowing nod across the room.  The shared glance that says, "if we don't leave soon, we will have to retrieve Urban from the chandelier."  Then we slowly we gather the boys and their stuff, make our way person by person through the family and say goodbye.  An hour later, if we're lucky, we're in the car and heading back towards home.

Yesterday, I learned the value of the long goodbye.  We attended the anniversary of Brett's Uncle's ordination at a church near the Wisconsin border.  It had been storming on and off all day.  Urban was soaked to the bone from dancing in and karate chopping the rain drops while jumping in puddles in the parking lot.  Beringer was getting restless from having no nap.  And the crowd had finally dwindled from a throng to a smattering.  Even the accordian player was packing up.  We knew it was time to start the farewells.  They took a little less time because some of the family had already departed, but it was still a solid half hour of, "See you next time, we're taking off!"

We finally got in the car and headed back to the city.  Brett and I were amusing ourselves stealing glances at the boys playing peek-a-boo and singing in the backseat when the semi in front of us on 394 stopped abruptly.  We stopped too – a little closer to it's tail lights than I was comfortable with, but we stopped.  A couple moments later we we started again, soon driving over a swath of tree debris that cut across the highway.  "Weird," I said, "it looks like a tornado went through." Brett rolled his eyes and accused me of being dramatic.

We exited south onto 100, and as we pulled onto the exit that would take us home, we saw a fire truck.  Then another.  Then some police cars.  Then we saw an entire street blocked off.  "What is going on?"

We got home, and I tucked the boys (all three) into bed and switched on the television.  I was greeted with immediate storm coverage.  "The tornado formed just over the intersection of highway 100 and 394 moments ago touching down in Saint Louis Park, then cutting it's way through North Minneapolis..."

Wait.  We live in Saint Louis Park.  And we were just at the intersection of 394 and 100.  Whoa.  It all started to sink in.  We had been sitting on the highway when the tornado went through.  And if it hadn't been for the infamous Kaiser Goodbye, we probably would have been sitting right in its path.  I've never been so thankful for the drawn out farewell in my life.