Drop off

There is a day care center in our office building, so when I arrive at work, there are usually a couple of cars in the drop off zone right in front. I have dropped off a meal for those who are grieving, homebound, or exhausted from the birth of a child they soon may be delivering to day care. I’ve taken advantage of the drop off service at the laundromat. People, ideas, projects can drop off my radar for a while and then resurface. At the end of a long day, I hope to drop off to sleep quickly. 

The phrase took on a different meaning when I stood at the rim of the Grand Canyon last September. There was an element of risk; I experienced twinges of anxiety. I was surprised that instead of becoming accustomed to the fear, my apprehension actually increased during our trip. By the end, when we went to Bryce Canyon, I hugged the land side of any path and only went close to the edge when there was a railing.

I guess there is an element of risk in all of the routine drop offs also. Viruses get passed from one child to the rest. A red sock can bleed into the white towels. When I drop off a friend in front of their home, I wait until they are inside and assume they are then safe. I’ll bet that’s what the parents of the young men at Syracuse University thought last fall when they dropped them off. They didn’t expect to see their sons on the national news for doing something stupid in the hope of acceptance and inclusion. From Sandy Hook to Las Vegas and Barcelona to Brussels, parents, friends, cab and bus drivers dropped off children, families, or their fares for the routine or the special occasion, not knowing that particular day would be extraordinary. Yet, for every drop off we do, we really want to trust there will be an equally simple pick up. May local, national and world leaders work harder to make it so.

Marilyn