To my IRL (local) friends,
I don't say it.
I don't think it.
I'm giving ample warning, my friends, that you mustn't either. Not in front of me.
We're doing this again. My eighth time as a military spouse, our sixth time as a military family with kidlets. And as a child of nomadic, adventure-seeking parents: too many to count.
It's tough. It's tedious. It's pull-my-hair-out-stressful. Now, at thirty days out, you might even catch me talking to myself, writing lists for the heck of it, eating french fries as if the zombie apocalypse were happening tomorrow.
You'll just have to be patient with me. It's called The Letting Go.
I am in the depths of storage, sorting out our sterilite containers. Keep? Toss? Donate? I am concocting creative dishes using ingredients we cannot take. I am also packing away great memories of new and old friends, of road trips and family vacations, of accomplishments and challenges.
But do not say the G word to me.
Because there is no such thing as goodb&* in my book, not if the sun still rises, if the phones still ring, if the internet continues to connect. We can still be as close as you and I choose to be, and even if we lose touch, you are still in my heart. I don't have any expectations. I'm pretty laid-back like that.
So when we see each other one last time before my move, don't say goodb*&. Tell me we'll keep in touch, that we'll post pictures, text or snail mail. That time will pass but our friendship will stand still until we pick up where we left off.
Be laid-back too, tell me "see you later." I bet the more we say it, the universe will make it happen.