Between Time Zones and Goodbyes

Between Time Zones and Goodbyes

Every now and then, Reinhold asks if we should fly back to California at the beginning of next year.

Years ago, I probably would have answered, “Absolutely.”

These days, I sometimes hesitate.

Not because of the long flight.

Not because of the planning.

Not even because of the cost.

But because of the goodbye.

The older I get, the more my perspective on reunions has changed.

Over the years, I’ve realized that every reunion comes with a farewell.

The more beautiful the reunion, the harder it often is to let go again.

And yet, I wouldn’t want to miss a single one of those journeys.

Family Life Across Time Zones

When your family is spread across different countries, you usually end up living across different time zones as well.

While we’re enjoying our first cup of coffee in Germany, Lena is still asleep in California.

In Maine, Tanja’s workday is about to begin.

Vanessa, in the south of France, lives much closer to us in terms of time, but life there follows its own rhythm too.

And yet, we’re surprisingly connected.

Sometimes it’s a text message.

Sometimes a photo.

Sometimes a question that could just as easily have been asked around the kitchen table.

A few weeks ago, Tanja sent me photos late in the evening of Kieran trying on different suits for an upcoming garden wedding.

“Which one do you like best?”

Then another photo arrived.

And another.

While it was still a relaxed afternoon on the American East Coast, I was already fighting to keep my eyes open here in northern Germany.

Eventually I texted back:

“Tanja… you do realize it’s after 10 p.m. here, and I’m 74?”

Her reply came immediately:

“Sorry. No worries. The wedding isn’t until August.”

Three daughters. Three countries. And countless shared memories.

The Little Things

More often than not, it’s the ordinary messages that remind me how close we’ve remained despite the distance.

Not long ago, Lena was trying to recreate a pea soup in California that simply refused to taste the way it used to.

We ended up discussing marjoram, salt, and Maggi seasoning cubes.

We also regularly exchange audiobook and book recommendations.

Or someone simply sends a photo.

A sunset.

A new recipe.

Or an ordinary Tuesday.

None of those things changes the world.

But together they all tell the same story.

Family isn’t made up only of life’s big occasions.

It’s built just as much on all the little moments in between.

America Is Big

Whenever I mention that our daughters live in the United States, people sometimes say,

“Well, then you get to see them whenever you’re in America.”

It sounds reasonable.

But it isn’t.

Because America is huge.

Much bigger than many people realize.

Lena lives in California.

Tanja and her family live in Maine.

Several time zones and many hours of flying separate them.

You don’t just drive over for a cup of coffee.

You plan.

Organize.

Compare calendars.

Coordinate vacations and flights.

And even then, it doesn’t always work out.

During our last stay in California, Tanja, Sam, and Robin came to visit us in La Quinta.

It was wonderful.

But it was the exception rather than the rule.

Maybe that’s exactly why we treasure our time together so much.

I Love Reunions

I love reunions.

They’re filled with anticipation.

With excitement.

With possibilities.

We hug.

We laugh.

We all talk at once.

And for a little while, it feels as though the months apart never existed.

Maybe that’s exactly why I love reunions so much.

Because I know every single one is precious.

The Other Side of Every Reunion

And yet, every reunion has another companion.

The goodbye.

Years ago, it waited quietly somewhere far beyond the horizon.

These days, it sometimes arrives the moment we say hello.

Quietly.

Almost unnoticed.

But it’s there.

Because eventually, the last day comes again.

The final hug.

The last wave.

One last look back.

And then everyone returns to their own life.

There were times when our daughters felt homesick.

Times of doubt.

Of uncertainty.

Times when they wondered whether staying in Germany might have been the better choice.

Of course, I could have said,

“Come home.”

Instead, I usually said,

“Give your new life a little more time. Germany isn’t going anywhere.”

That was never easy.

But sometimes love means letting people go, even when every part of you wants to hold on.

Today, I’m grateful they stayed.

They’ve built lives of their own.

Even if those lives are far away from ours.

What Remains

Of course, no WhatsApp message can replace a hug.

No video call can replace a lazy Sunday afternoon together.

No photo can take someone’s place around the family table.

There are moments when I miss my children deeply.

Moments when other families do things together that would require us to book a long-haul flight.

That’s simply part of our life.

But then my phone lights up again.

Someone sends a picture.

Needs help with a pea soup.

Or asks for advice about a suit.

And suddenly, those thousands of miles don’t seem quite so far anymore.

Our family lives in different countries.

Across different time zones.

Sometimes even on different continents.

And yet, we’re surprisingly often together in the same virtual living room.

So every now and then, Reinhold asks if we should cross the Atlantic once again.

And of course I want to.

I want to hug my daughters.

Have coffee with them.

Talk about wonderfully unimportant things.

Make new memories.

The goodbye will be part of it again.

I know that now.

But love doesn’t measure distance in miles.

It measures it in missed hugs.

And that’s why we’ll probably fly across the Atlantic again.

Sometimes all it takes is a glance toward the horizon to feel close again.