The Hard Goodbye

Since deciding to make this latest move, I’ve realized that my excitement for this next chapter has been tempered with a twinge of sadness. I noticed that I was dragging my feet on preparing, and as I packed it was with heavy hands and a heavy heart. Even though we felt this move is the best choice for our family and believed that our new location would be a good fit for our interests and lifestyle, I still wasn’t feeling 100% on board. Even though we never intended to settle in the Midwest and our current locale is a bit too congested and a smidge too flat and way too far from family, I still wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

I’ve moved many times in the past – 16 to be exact – and I know in my heart that I’m adaptable and my kids are resilient. But something about this move feels heavier, harder, despite the fact that Chicagoland isn’t where we envision our future. What is it about this move that seems all the more difficult?

I’ve slowly come to realize, it’s not the place, but the people who are so hard to leave behind. The people who welcomed us into their homes and hearts when we moved here without knowing a soul. The people who have shepherded me into this whole new world of motherhood and encouraged me every shaky step of the way. The people who have held and loved my babies, and have held and loved me through life-shifting transitions.

The people who have shown up with food and laughter and adult conversation. The people who have come over in the middle of the night to snuggle with my toddler as we welcomed a new baby. The people who take care of my children when I have an appointment and childcare falls through and I have no one else to call. The people who invite us over to eat good steak and drink great wine. The people who invite me to simply sit on their floor and sip hot coffee and talk about life. The people who spur me to leave my comfort zone and embark on a hike or a beach day or a trip to the city or a camping trip. The people who make life an adventure and add so much to the journey.

The people who have invited us to join in their family birthdays and holidays and celebrations; where we’ve looked up to discover the humble blessing of being the only ones not related. These friends who have truly become family.

It’s these sacred souls who have made this unfamiliar place a home. These faces that I can’t bear to picture in the rear-view mirror of my life. It’s the abundant love that they’ve poured into our lives and our children, how they’ve become our village, our pillars of support, as we venture through parenthood together. It’s this small but significant community of friends that make it feel impossible to say goodbye.

And so, in the midst of the overwhelm of packing and prepping and planning that has overtaken our lives, I’ve been been intentional these past couple weeks about savoring my time with these wonderful people who have embedded themselves in my heart. I’ve left boxes unpacked as I try to squeeze in just one more play date. I’ve met friends in the rain to explore the park and the zoo because the company matters more than the weather, and I don’t have a day to waste. I’ve lingered longer on picnic blankets under the shady canopy of trees as our children play chase and we leisurely talk about nothing and everything. I’ve welcomed offers of help with packing, less because I needed it and more because I just wanted to spend a little extra time with friends. I’ve watched the shadows grow long in the backyard as we invite friends to stay just a little bit longer. I’ve seen the sky slowly fade to darkness as bare feet run across grass and the kids get to stay up just a little bit later to play together. I’ve meandered slowly home from a drawn out dinner with friends, looking for any excuse to spend a few more minutes together.

There never seems to be enough time to soak it all in. I convince myself if I can see these friends just one more time before we leave, it will make the goodbye easier. Realistically, I know these people will still be here. Realistically, I know that it will probably be a very long time before we come back again. Realistically, I also know that great relationships cannot be limited by distance, though their shape may shift.

I’ll miss the time spent with these great friends in the deepest part of my heart. I’ll miss the smiles and hugs and words of encouragement. I’ll miss the ease and the comfort of our friendship and the laughter that our children share. But I am so immensely grateful to have gotten to know such incredible people. I’m eternally thankful for all they’ve brought to my life. I’m so very glad to have shared something special enough to make parting sorrowful. And I know, there are parts of these sweet souls that I will carry with me through all the adventures that lie ahead.

So thank you, dear friends, for embracing me with nothing short of love and grace. Thank you for the countless ways you have made my life and my time here infinitely better. Thank you for all that you’ve taught me and all that we’ve shared. Thank you for making this unlikely home so hard to leave.

2 thoughts on “The Hard Goodbye

  1. This is so poignant and yet, you will slowly find your way out of Chicagoland and into your next abode. I will face a similar experience, in anywhere from 1-3 years, leaving the place that has been my default home for the past seven years-and going, God knows where.

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