It’s a simple phrase really. To All Gates. But the connotations are endless. In this photograph is my oldest son Rob. In this photograph he is returning to Berlin after a short visit home. In this photograph he is pushing an oversized bag to the drop off window. The large bag contains two of his keyboards which he’s finally getting to have with him in his current home city. In this photograph you also see that he’s got one of his guitars. What you don’t see is the checked bag with an analog recorder he’s also adding to his choice of tools. He’s never wanted more than he could move across town in a taxi, so it comforts me to think he’s willing to admit that somewhere is going to be his home long enough to accumulate some stuff. He’s a brave and adventurous soul, and I’m trying to be a brave Mom, stilling my heart for another goodbye.
He’s been away from my home for seven years. I thought Asheville was a long way until he moved to the west coast, which doesn’t seem nearly as far away since he’s moved to Europe. He’s a composer. He’s composed an interesting life for himself, with interesting friends, interesting work and interesting places. He creates songs and soundtracks where ever he goes. He is not afraid of the uncharted. What else could a brave Mom hope for? Does the photograph show that?
The photograph does not show the tears welling up in my eyes, or the tightening of my throat as I swallow the surge of emotions surrounding me. But still I raise a toast “To All Gates.”