Massachusetts 24, or Saying Goodbye

It doesn't feel like goodbye, that's for sure. My head understands that in four days, I'm getting on a plane without a return ticket, but my body is a little slow to catch up on these things. I keep thinking things like, "This isn't really the last time I get to hug these people, walk these streets, drink my favorite juice blend at this coffee shop." I have said Significant Things to Significant People on the order of "write to me" and "I'm going to miss you" and "I love you."

And I've been quoting Harriet the Spy. It's been my favorite book for many, many years, in part because it got me in the habit of writing every day, and in part for the ending. Harriet has to say goodbye to her beloved nanny, who is stern, uncompromising, grumpy and loving in a wash-your-hair-too-vigorously sort of way. Harriet is crying and carrying on, and Ole Golly tells her something like this this:

(I always imagine that Ole Golly holds her by the shoulders and gets in very close to her face to say it.)

"No tears. Tears won't bring me back. Life is a struggle and a good spy gets in there and fights."

And Harriet tearfully asks, "Won't you miss me?"

And it's Ole Golly's response that I hang onto for times like these, which goes something like this:

"No. I never miss anybody, because as soon as I leave them it all becomes a lovely memory."

But I'm not Ole Golly. I'm not that wise or evolved yet, and I suspect there's a good deal of tears and fireworks ahead of me. But this weekend, there are things I am so glad I was here for. One last Girlyman show with a group of friends, clustered higgledy-piggledy in a corner and passing notes on napkins. A Unitarian Universalist Sunday morning service led (in part) by a friend's son that got me all choked up. The fierce hug from said friend's son when he realized I might not be back for good until he goes away to college. Brunch at Tofu A Go-Go, complete with their secret sauce that I will never, ever be able to replicate. The spectacular warm Saturday, playing with dogs in the park. Folk music concert in Vermont. The warm wishes from everybody, the assurances that I'm going to be Okay.

It's a rainy, gloomy day here. Fitting for a goodbye.

Here's a prayer: may the lovely memory begin the minute I drive away. And may it keep me warm until I come back.