I did a lot of leaving when I was young. I tried different types of work and lived in different types of places and participated in temporary programs. This ephemeral living involved many tearful goodbyes, but I was always the one leaving. Goodbyes were bittersweet-filled with the heartbreak of breaking bonds formed over my time in different places, but also with the excitement and distraction of the unknown things to come. This is a common story of youth.
But now I am older, with roots (both literally and figuratively) in the ground, and now I’m the one left behind while the young head off to the exciting and unknown lives ahead of them. My brain knows logically that this is inevitable. It understands that it was once young and free and filled with wanderlust. It knows that following that longing and filling their lives with new experiences is what is best for those that do.
My heart, however, is a selfish thing. It whines and cries and stamps its feet in protest. This IS NOT what it wants. I’m still trying to learn to embrace all emotions no matter how uncomfortable, and so I indulge the heart a bit. I return to a familiar grief mode. I once again listen to the music about the loss of love, about the dissolution of relationships that I was listening to after the death of our dog, and during previous moments of grief. I embrace the sadness and let my heart break.
No, things will not be the same. Yes, things have been great. But it will be okay. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. We will build another farmily from the ground up. In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy the heck out of the last moments with this one that we’ve been so lucky to have for so long.
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