never can say goodbye

As the disembodied voice of the Google Maps lady informed me we were reaching the border and exiting the state of Maryland, I turned and snapped this pic. This is the view of my goodbye.

Friday evening through Sunday afternoon is simply not long enough for a getaway with friends. It seems like an expansive, leisurely amount of time during the planning stage, months before the arrival of the actual weekend, but when it is finally upon us, I'm left feeling like I'm watching the minutes speed by. That's not to say that I don't enjoy the minutes as they're happening, it's simply that the entire weekend feels like it's lived in hyperspeed.

When it's time to depart, my mind swirls with questions. Did I thoroughly enough enjoy the time spent in the hot tub, finally trying to relax my aching muscles, laughing and chatting, expressing our joys and our fears? Was I 'in the moment' as we played games that turned competitive but still were filled with hilarity and uproarious cackling? Did I take a calming breath when I was finally able to pull my long-distance friends into a great big bear hug? Did I listen well enough and with ample empathy as everyone shared their parenting struggles and successes?

Did I make the most of each and every second that we were away together?

The build-up to the time away is always simultaneously painful and luxurious. It's so reassuring to know that a weekend away is on the horizon, and the countdown from three months to six weeks to two days to leaving in a few hours is undeniably gratifying. Then the time is suddenly RIGHT HERE and the real fun begins.

But when it comes to that goodbye part, that's where my heart aches the most. The big breakfast spreads have been eaten and cleaned up. The tequila shots have been drunk, and the lime peels and salt spills have disappeared. The karaoke mics have drained batteries, and everyone's voices sound a bit beaten up. The damp bathing suits and towels have been thrown back into duffels and overnight bags along with all the other items packed in anticipation of lounging. All evidence of a boisterous weekend with ten women in one house has been erased, and the beautiful rental home once again looks ready for a new set of guests.

And then it's time to say goodbye.

The in-person goodbyes seem easier for everyone else than they do for me; perhaps I'm just the mushiest one with the most uncontrollable sentiments. Regardless, I tear up, each and every time. This time might indicate my more heightened emotional fragility, increasingly affected by the news of the day and worried about upcoming challenges. In the absence of everything else, though, I know I would still be drippy-faced as I squeezed my friends in one last hug, already talking about the planning stage for the next gathering half a year away.

I know there are people out there for whom this doesn't present as great a challenge-- people who are able to 100% enjoy an experience without the ever-present voice in the back of their heads reminding them that time is passing and it will soon be nothing but memories. I am not one of those people, no matter how hard I try. I've come to accept it as just another part of my overall wackiness. And thankfully, it seems that my friends have done the same.

And so, I shed a few tears, lingered by the doors of the restaurant where we ate our final group meal, and then split from the large group to pile into our own vehicles to head back in our own directions. The goodbyes were technically said, but it wasn't easy. It never is.



Title inspiration: "Never Can Say Goodbye" by The Jackson 5