Saying Good-Bye...

...sucks. Not all the time. Not when you're saying farewell to an old roommate who never picked up after themselves or an ex-lover who done you wrong (say that with a strong southern accent... it sounds better). But when you're saying goodbye to a dear family member or two who are going to fly across an ocean to return home and you know you might not see them for a year or two...

...it sucks.

It is one of the hardest things in the world to say goodbye to my grandparents when they finish their visit to the states. Papa knows it's best to keep it short and sweet, I think. He gives you a really big, strong hug that warms you and makes you feel so secure and just says "Goodbye, Jenny, take care." But Nannie's a different story. You can see her bright eyes welling up, but you know she doesn't want you to see her cry. Her hankie comes out, dabs at her nose with a little sniff. She chuckles to blow it all off, but you can still hear the waiver in her voice.

And when she hugs you, you can't feel anything but her sorrow. She clings to you, practically digging her fingers into you. There's a soft sniffle by your ear and you feel your cheek moisten with a tear drop. Yours or hers? She holds you there, so tightly, until you are certain you will openly cry yourself, and then she lets you go. You smile, awkwardly, shrug your shoulders and say "Ah well." She grins a little, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly. You stand there, looking at her, wanting to hug her again and tell her it's all alright and everything will be fine and you'll see her soon...

...but it's in these moments you notice how old she is now, how frail. You feel yourself frantically praying to see her again soon. The tears are welling up in your eyes now too, and you need to go... but how can you? How do you just turn around and walk away now? You look over to Papa and notice his eyes are red with sorrow now too. It hurts. It cuts you so deeply. You have to leave. One more hug? One more hug and you'll really cry. You can't let Nannie see you really cry.

So you go. You numbly turn around and march out of the door, get into the car and go home. You know tomorrow, at three o'clock, as their plane takes off, you'll feel a fresh stab at this wound, but there we are.

Papa always used to say "A good thing must end so a better thing can start" when we were children. I used to cry openly then. Now I'm grown up and I don't. Maybe it would feel better if I did, but not if it made them cry. And maybe it would feel better for them if they cried openly, but not if it made me cry. So we pretend. There's plenty of time for crying once they take off.