Dropping Tuey and Natasha off at their condo tonight in New York, I realized that this is probably the last time for me. Our annual ritual is coming to an end. The daughter is growing up. She has her own place, her own life, and her own commitments. This would, unfortunately, mean that Tuey’s annual stays with us in Atlanta are now in the reverse mirror.

In fairness, driving mindlessly for thousands of miles twice in a month is nobody’s sense of fun. Neither is the art of covering up the rental car with all sorts of sheets so that poor Tuey’s prolific hair shedding will not invoke steep rental car fines.

But, in many ways, that *was* the fun. Fourteen hours of virtually no conversation with a Gen Z daughter, other than the initial 30 minutes of spitting out all the drama with her friends in her life. The quiet drive was punctuated by stops at Starbucks and Chick-fil-A, downing more cappuccinos and spicy chicken sandwiches than you could shake a stick at. And that occasional whimpering from the rear seat, letting everybody know that he could do with some petting. But for that, he would either sleep or endlessly look outside. Only to come to life at the stops, sniffing at stuff all over the lot like he was born to sniff up everything in rest stops.

I will miss the routine… the weekend before Thanksgiving meant a quick flight to New York, then two days driving down to Atlanta with the daughter and the dog. The weekend after Christmas meant doing the reverse. In between, the daughter would go back to New York, and Tuey would be in Atlanta.

A new homeostasis will settle down in my routine. No more starting the vacuum cleaner at 5 AM to clear the floor of his hair, no more morning walk together before anybody could wake up, and no more being greeted at the top of the stairs with his head cocked to his right as I would emerge from the stairwell!

Finiteness is hard to accept!

Perhaps we should consider moving closer to him for one month each year to accommodate his constraints?