Adieu

It’s time to leave our little house in Social Circle, Georgia and move to France.

Everybody says, “Wow, you’re going on a great adventure!” They tell us stoically that they are going to miss us. And I smile and say something like, “I’ll miss you too. But we’ll be back soon.”

Truth is, I don’t know when we’ll be back. Something tells me it will be a long while. And when we do return, everything will be so different.

How in the world do you say goodbye? How do you bid your tree house farewell? The one Tim built in the hot sun when we barely had enough money for the wood? The one David painted. The one all of our kids’ friends slept in? Never mind the house. The floors my husband sanded through the night when I was pregnant with our first baby. The hollowed out shell that we turned into a beautiful home. The kitchen where I learned to make pizza and my babies learned to walk.

How do you say goodbye to the teacher who taught your son to play the violin? (She sent me pictures of his first grade recital. He’s 11 now.) How do you tell your mother goodbye? The woman who showed up on your doorstep three days a week for a decade to care for your kids? How do you walk away from friends—really good ones, who drink with you and pray for you? And how do you tell your children how to say goodbye to the friends they’ve loved since they were learning to talk?

I don't know.

I just know that these tears streaming down my face are the good kind. The bitter-sweet sorrow of letting go of what we love so much.

I can’t tell you all how much I love you. I’ll miss you when we’re gone. But we will be back, eventually. And we’ll carry you in our hearts wherever we go!