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(Ok - that might be a bit of an exaggeration.) Still... goodbyes are hard.
It's strange - 200 years ago families set off into the unknown, across endless oceans or prairies, likely to never see or hear from their loved ones again, and I'm not sure that they blubbered and bawled half as much I have in the past few days. And they didn't even have Facebook!
I've been working on my exit strategy (since we're going to be doing this several more times.) It goes something like this:
- Grin broadly and confidently as I announce, "Ok, everyone - it's probably time to go now."
- Bite my lip and compel my tear ducts to contract using the sheer force of my will. (Duct tape or superglue might be required in future.)
- Use ninja-like mind power to slow time, in order to soak up every nuance and impression of the goodbye hugs.
- Get into the car, grinning and waving wildly as I watch my loved ones get smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.
- Break down and sob uncontrollably until I can regain my composure, and/or I run out of tissues. (Hopefully this happens before we arrive to the next location.)
- Repeat.
It's like ripping off a band-aid over, and over, and over, and over again, only in this case it hurts the ripper and the rippee (so to speak).
<sigh> I don't know if my strategy is a good one or not. I can only pray that those we leave behind know that our stoicism is hard-fought, and not a result of indifference. (Oh, Lord - please let them know!)
And, though I'm not looking forward to any more goodbyes, I am looking forward to the work that the Lord has called us to. So, until someone invents a way to go into somewhere new without having to leave where they are, I guess I'll have to stay the course and stick to my strategy. (Now, where can I get some duct tape?)
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