You show up with a smile and a brave face. You withhold judgement on dustbunnies and mildew. You tirelessly pack up every little book, piece of paper, trinket and memento; helping to purge when you can. You laugh hardily with them as you discover the hidden "gigantic orgasm" book- discovered luckily by you when her mother is not in earshot. You pack and tape and lift and haul. You sweep and vacuum and dust and scrub. You marvel at how quickly it all goes into the truck.
Then... you start to say good-bye. Tears flow into sobs as you kiss her baby good-bye. Whose birth you attended. Who will not remember you next time. You try to be brave and say things like, "I know this is the right choice for you". You both admit you're not good at keeping up with e-mail but will try. You are grateful to have had each other during this time- of weddings and babies and transitions and examinations and failures and resounding successes.
And you walk to your car- eyes heavy, needing a nap to wipe clean your teary eyes. And you know that the next time you meet you will be changed. Perhaps a little less innocent, perhaps a little more confident, perhaps more than a little exhausted. Maybe there will be more births. But your heart is aching for missing her... still in her apartment for a few more hours. The moving truck packed- neither of us ready for her to go.
1 comment:
my heart ached and throbbed just reading this.
it is hard. it hurts.
i remember moving from Seattle back here to Chicago and saying goodbye to my dear friend. The tears, the sobs, the ache in my chest, the exhaustion, the knowing.
it does get better.
for now, its ok to just be here.
thinking of you.
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