Tuesday, June 28, 2016

The Sad Part

I've been thinking a lot lately about goodbyes.

Doesn't that sound ominous? I suppose it's partially a product of the job -- there are almost always two rounds of goodbyes each week. There are two rounds of hellos as well ... but the nature of goodbyes makes them stick just a bit differently.

It first became apparent to me on Friday as the stacks of kids were leaving and I started getting spontaneous hugs. Now, I know we've established that I'm not much of a hugger, but when a kid runs up to you and throws her arms around your waist, you smile and accept it. And then you get a little sad because said kid is adorable and she was fun to have around for the week.

This is a relatively new experience this summer, as I've now been here long enough that kids are starting to recognize me when they turn up year after year. The poignancy of it, though, didn't really hit me until I had the chance to think about other things.

First, I read this Wait But Why post. (Do yourself a favor and don't read it more than once. A second reading can ruin your week.) The basic summary is that assuming you're an adult, all of your big relationships are probably nearing their ends. And that kind of thought can become daunting very quickly.

Then I looked around and realized that I'm very good at making friends with folks who don't really live here for long periods of time. A couple of them left this past spring; now I'm in the midst of one of those friendships and the impending finish is making me sad.

And then there's the fact that this is the last summer for the M-Man and Chef Lady. Egads.

Here's the thing: I suck at goodbyes. I'm not even good at ending a phone conversation, much less having to say so long to someone that I may not see again for awhile. And ... ugh. I don't like it.

I know I'm not alone in this and I know most of us have our coping mechanisms (like pure avoidance, to name one of many). But some days when I have too much time to think, it wears on me.

And on a two-last-days-of-camp week, the wear is apparent.

... I think I need a pick-me-up. Maybe some chocolate.

Thanks again, Mr. Munroe.

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