Good-Bye

Since the writer in me has re-emerged, I thought it only fitting to get off my butt and do something with it. So I joined a local writers group that meets on Tuesdays. I RSVPed for tonight's meeting and cranked out an essay about saying good-bye.

With my wares in hand, I drove to the meeting. And drove. And drove. And drove.

Why do buildings not put their address number on the outside? Will I ever learn to get directions BEFORE I leave the house? I never found the coffeeshop. I suppose tonight wasn't supposed to be my night.

It's a good essay. Really good. I read it to a friend tonight over the phone. She loved the essay, but was surprised to hear that I was so willing to share such a personal story with strangers.

I guess she hasn't read my blog.

I can't imagine NOT sharing personal informaton with strangers. Since I didn't get to do it in the glory of a coffeeshop, I'll share a little bit here with my friends in cyberland. So grab a cup of your favorite hot drink, and enjoy an excerpt from "Good-Bye".

How can one simple word I learned as a baby wrap up the life we shared? It seemed like an insult. It was unfair. Surely there had to be more to this process of letting go than uttering two syllables and waving a hand. Doesn't the time invested in any relationship warrant more? Could it really be this easy?

In the end, it had to happen, and no amount of analyzing and fretting would stop the course before me. It was time to say good-bye, and I knew it with every fiber of my being. I was as ready as I ever would be. Under a blistering noon day sun, I helped him pack the truck with clothes and personal affects. He loaded up two of our dogs just before turning to look at me. My heart pounded with the anticipation of how I would react to this moment that I dreaded more than anything else.

With a sorrow-filled smile and tears welling in his eyes, he kissed me on the cheek and hopped into the driver's seat. We fumbled the dreaded words. I watched him back the truck out of the driveway, reminiscent of the way my grandmother watched us leave when I was child. The words really weren't sufficient. I needed to physically watch him leave, etching the moment into my memory. After all, in the long run, the end of our time together would be just as significant as the other memories I had etched in photographs.