The Art of Leaving

Three days of movers, sixteen days and sixteen nights of hotel living, eight 70 pound suitcases, four head colds, six Christmas parties, a gift that won't fit on the plane, and today we fly away. Time has gone by so fast...too fast. And as always, we've let things go to the end. The last few days have been spent banking, shopping, purging, donating, organizing, and once again packing our lives into eight giant suitcases. All along the way, we've been saying good-bye.

You'd think I'd be good at it, after all, this is number seven. I remember the first big move to Tulsa when David had finally put my bawling body into the car, driven away, only to discover I had left my purse at my Mom's and we had to go back and do the good-byes all over again. That was the worst, and they've all gotten easier since. I worked on my method of departing, trying to lessen the pain. It became pretty easy. Just don't say good-bye.

Not only don't I say the words, I avoid any ritual that might focus on the leaving. No good-bye lunches, drinks, dinners, breakfasts, and for sure no "good- bye parties". I'm elusive on the date of departure, the date of the movers, the kids last day of school, any date that might trigger someone to want to say those dreaded words. I always manage to sneak away in the middle of the night.

On Christmas day, I realized that "good-bye-aphobia" runs in the family. My Aunti Di admitted to hiding in the bathroom when it's time for her daughter to go back to Chicago, and my Aunt Cherie always promises to stop over before we leave and then never shows up. People always say "I'm not going to say good-bye" as if not saying the words will make it not happen, like it's a spell to be cast or not.

I look at each move like un-mooring a ship. From the minute I hear the word "transfer", I start battening down the hatches and preparing the cargo, charting the course for our next destination. What I have failed to do is untie the ropes the that anchor the boat. Instead, the dreaded anchor is inevitably raised, we push away and the ropes strain, fray and eventually, snap.

This move has been different. I'm sitting in this chaotic mess of a hotel room with an amazing sense of calm. The difference is this...I made myself say good-bye. I accepted invitations for dinner, made plans to see friends one last time, and looked people in the eye and told them how much I enjoyed knowing them. I teared up when I went through the bank drive-thru for the last time and thanked the baggers at Publix for all the times they loaded my groceries in the car. I hugged the dentist, my hair dresser and Aidan's bus driver. I took time to talk to people I ran into and told the truth about which day we were leaving. I missed some important people, like my friends at the gym, but they know my life was crazy if I couldn't exercise. This time I untied the knots and let the ropes fall away.

Tomorrow morning we'll wake up in the Southern hemisphere and you'll wake up knowing someone that lives in Brazil. I'll say....good morning summer sun, so long winter chill and I'll try saying something in Portuguese. But most importantly I'll say good-bye friends. I love you, my amazing family. Bon voyage USA. I miss you already.