Death--Or Something Like It

I hate saying goodbye, and yet it feels like that's all I've been doing lately.  Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.  I'm not sure why we even preface a "bye" with "good."  What, I want to know, is good about a bye?  Bye means waving at someone's back when they've turned away from you, when you know you won't see them soon--or ever, maybe.  Bye means releasing desires, hopes, dreams from the fists you have so tightly wrapped around them.  Bye means losing pieces of yourself, pieces that create holes in the wake of their absence, holes that you only wish could be filled again, but never will because what once filled them can't ever be again.

I said goodbye last night.  Lying in my bed, pillow cradling my aching head, I wept over what I've had that I don't have anymore.  I cried because only hours earlier a band that managed to weasel its way into my college memories was playing for the last time in a barn in south Marion, Indiana, my home for four years, the home I just said goodbye to seven months ago.  I cried because I live ten hours away, ten hours I couldn't justify spending on yet another trip to see them play.  I cried because I felt removed from my old life, from the things that were at my finger tips only months ago that now are hundreds of miles away.  

I'm saying goodbye in less than two months.  I'm leaving my friends, my family, these United States, to go to a country that I've been to before,  yet have dreamed of living in since I was a child.  And I know that I'm already setting myself up for more pain--more goodbyes--when two months later I will return, with more holes, more pieces of myself that have abandoned me, choosing to stay overseas in a place that I may not ever revisit.

And then, because this seems to be an ongoing theme, I am saying goodbye to Atlanta when I get back.  Even though the city has lost its charm, has grown old and dowdy to someone who enjoys (too much) new things, new explorations, I still will miss so much about it.  I will miss who I became while living here, the independence I gathered up inside myself after spending three summers away from anyone I knew.  I will miss the people I have met--though few and far between, they have helped me, encouraged me to press forward, to pursue goals I've only made within the few years that I have been here.  I will miss the High, the Fox, Atlantic Station, Ikea, Virginia-Highland, L5P.  I will miss getting lost, determined, though, to find my way even when it seemed hopeless.  I'll miss my bakeries, sweet tea, sweet potato fries, a culture that embraces both "sweet" and "fried" in their culinary vocabulary.  I will miss a lot.

So I'm saying bye, not with a "good," but with a huge, awful sigh.  I am crying over the things I am losing: music, experiences, home.  And I am resigned to the fact that I don't know what the hell I am saying hello to.  That at the end of these byes, there doesn't seem to be any sort of glimpse as to what will greet me.  If these are deaths, if these byes are a letting go, then I want new life.  I want birth.  I want something to hold onto.

I'll See You In April

Last weekend, my mom and I drove up to Indiana for what would be my last stateside road trip until April when I return from the UK.  With a stop in Nashville, two days in Indianapolis, and a visit to my alma mater, I found that I kept saying the same phrase over and over: "I'll see you in April."  Sometimes, succumbing to self-doubt, I would say, "Hopefully I'll see you in April," or "I'll try to see you in April."  But often I just stuck to the former, knowing that no matter what I wouldn't be seeing any of my friends for at least five more months.  At least.  

One good thing (among many) that came out of the weekend was an impromptu reunion with my quadmates from sophomore year.  In 2005, Jess, Libby, Elise, and I made the crazy decision to live together in one room at the end of one of the residence halls.  Difficult?  Yes.  Life changing?  You betcha.  The summer after that experience, I made a collage of pictures and statements for their birthdays.  During our first week of junior year, I presented each with her own frame filled with memories.  I came across part of that collage the other day.  And since I didn't make one for myself, thought that I would dedicate this post to them, my dearest of friends.  Here's to you, ladies...

You know you lived in the Quad if...

There is at least one video or picture showcasing your mad dancing skills.

You competed in a “Poop Race” even though you knew you’d never win.

[before it all began... 80's skate night freshman year]

You’ve hated at least one boyfriend (either your own or someone else’s).

The most stressful times were reasons to start a dance party.

[at the beginning... Island Party sophomore year]

You let your quadmates talk you into wearing pajamas to Steak ‘n Shake, staying out until 2 in the morning, and sleeping on the hard floor instead of your comfortable bed.

You made a resolution to work out with your quadmates every Saturday morning, but only hit the treadmill twice.

[after it ended... my birthday celebration in Fort Wayne junior year]

You know every guy Liz had a crush on, when she started liking him, why she shouldn’t like him, his nickname (if he had one), and Elise’s prediction for her love life.

You find yourself shortening every word that comes out of your mouth. (i.e. libe, din)

[the beginning of a new era... graduation 2008 senior year]

Every week involved at least one emotional breakdown and you were prepared.

You spent more than one occasion dressing a quadmate for a spontaneous outing.

[multiple generations... libby and jodi, lise and georgie (from the block), jan and liz, jeannie and jess]

The nicknames “Hairy Mother,” “Red Beard,” “Black Top,” and “Crying Mustache” bring back fond memories.

Your quadmates will not only be invited to your wedding, but will be the ones keeping you sane.

[nothing can keep us apart now... lise and austin's wedding summer 2008]

The thought of Jess yelling at you while half asleep was enough to make you shut up.

The thought of Elise staying up late was enough to make you take a nap.

The thought of Liz asking you to be quiet was enough to make you cringe.

The thought of Libby ever being a nuisance was enough to make you say, “Yeah right!”

[forever besties... impromptu reunion fall 2008]

Your shoulders were always wet with tears, your brain was always zapped for advice, your eyes were always weary from late night counseling sessions, but your soul was always ALIVE.

[I love you, girls]