It’s not goodbye…it’s “see ya later.”
“It's not the unknown that we fear. It's the known coming to an end”
Jiddu Krishnamurti was really onto something when he made this statement. In the midst of my packing, I found this quote written on a scratch piece of paper. At some point in my life many years ago, I scribbled these words on a piece of paper and have saved it through countless moves. It continues to remain true as we embark on this adventure.
We’ve had a lot of goodbyes in the past two weeks. A lot of knowns have come to an end, and I had a brief moment last night where I thought to myself, “What the fuck am I actually doing?!?!?!”
A few days before we left home, we rented the basketball court at the local university and enjoyed time with the boys’ friends from school and soccer. It was so bittersweet. I got a sneak peek into my son’s private lives with their friends at school by watching them interact with their classmates. I saw Cameron and a classmate do their special handshake, a handshake I didn’t know he had. He and his friends created an Emu Club at recess, and one of his friends brought the shell of an emu egg from his farm, which was a very special gift. We’ve known some of these kids since we arrived in West Virginia nearly four years ago, and it pains me to leave them. I grew up in the same house with the same people around me throughout my life, and I wanted that type of upbringing for my kids, too. (So then why am I leaving?) I love seeing how big the kids have gotten over the years, and I love all the memories we have created with the boys’ friends. Every time I’ve heard the kids talk to friends about the trip, it hurts my heart. Everyone has been so supportive, but there’s a little voice inside of me that tells me that I’m breaking the hearts of an entire elementary and middle school by pursuing this trip.
As a military family, we say, “It’s not goodbye…it’s “see ya later.”
It hurts less to say bid farewell to important people if you remain optimistic that you’ll see them again.
I sold my car today, which was sad in its own way. I bought my little truck shortly after we moved to West Virginia. We had some acreage and we needed something I could haul things with. Four years ago, I named the truck “Jacinda” after Jacinda Ardern, the New Zealand Prime Minister. (I’ve had my eye on New Zealand for a long time, y’all). That truck enabled Bert and I to build the walls in my office, creating a safe and comfortable space for myself and my clients. It was sad to let it go, and I silently thanked her for her reliability over the years as the associate drove it away, not knowing anything about why I was giving it up.
And then we said “see ya later” to our beloved dog, Iris. This one hurt. She’s the sweetest, most delicate dog we’ve ever had. When she is in trouble, or is just trying to be sweet, she smiles at us with her teeth. She’s silly and sweet as can be. She is safe with our friends, but man, this one hurt. Watching the kids initiate their last snuggles on her for a while was too painful for me to stick around for. I kept myself busy by turning off lights to the house, and not actually giving her any attention as I packed the last of our belongings into the truck.
Our cats, Rizzo and Lola, have been safe with family for the past several weeks to allow them to adjust to their new surroundings.
I wish we could take them all with us.
Whether we said see ya later to dogs, cats, people, or cars, it all felt like a twinge of pain. This week stung, for sure.
And even though it stings, we’re doing this sad, and moderately terrified, anyway.
-Ashley
