In the past 13 years, I have moved a lot. Really, a lot. I have said many farewells. I grew up on farewells, so in some ways, they're just a part of the life I've always known - more so than for most people, I think. But for the past 13 years, I've usually been the one doing the leaving. Somehow this has made goodbyes much more bearable, less traumatic. I couldn't say why, but it's much easier to say goodbye when I'm the one leaving, when the departure is at least partially my own choice.
For the first time in over a decade - maybe even since college - I'm saying farewells because I am being left behind. This time, the people I hold dear are moving on to bigger and better things, and I am stuck here without them. Don't misunderstand me: I am thrilled that the ones I love and respect have opportunities to grow and enrich their lives. I am thankful and excited for them. I would not want them to stay here without room to grow. But the moving on, as always, is bittersweet. And because if has been so long since I've been the one left behind, my heart is beginning to break in a way that had become almost entirely unfamiliar to me. It has been so long that I honestly don't know how I'm going to cope.
Until the final farewells are said, I will just have to treasure each moment, each laugh, and steel myself for the coming emptiness, the impending silence.
For silence will fall.
