It’s not goodbye if I say it from here

Sometimes, it’s hard to put into words what something meant to you.

And for that reason, people like me who suck at emotion just leave somewhere they lived for 9 years, the friends they had and the church they were a part of…. without giving a real goodbye.

Because goodbyes are hard.  What’s less hard?  Just ignoring them.

But now that I’ve had the chance to sit and I’m not ‘there’ where people are going to see me get all annoyingly weepy, I think I do have some words.

Have you watched The Princess Bride?  If you have lived under a rock your ENTIRE LIFE and have not, stop reading this and right this very instant go and watch it.  Right now.  Go.

If you (like the rest of the free world who have seen any move, ever) have, you will remember that Wesley says this:

“This is true love. 
 Do you think that happens every day?”

imbd.com

 
This past year, a friend of mine had his closer-than-a-father grandpa pass away suddenly.  And during the hospital visits and funeral preparations, my friend gave me a call.  She wasn’t going to make it home when her kids got off the bus.

So I drove to her house and did her dishes while I waited for her kids got off the bus.  When they did, the looked at me in their kitchen and they said:

“Hi Auntie Kim”

Then they walked downstairs.  When I called them up and told them to pack a bag to stay with me a few days, they said ok and we left.  And that was all.  Because I have known them their whole lives.  Because they are a part of my family.  Because they don’t even need to ask questions.

While brings me to my point (finally). 

This is friendship.  
Do you think that happens every day?

When thinking of what I would say to my friends, now that it’s safe because I’m already gone, there is a passage that has come to mind, over and over.

Matthew 25:35-36

Sometimes, it seems, someone else has put into words what something meant to you.


For I was young and new walking through those church doors and you invited us for Roast Beef lunch that very first Sunday.

I was admittedly scared of my battle tired DH when I moved in, and you prayed with us late in the night until the nightmares stopped.

I was hungry from my complete lack of cooking skills and you let me call and ask ‘how long do you cook a roast?’ and ‘how do you know if a chicken is done?’ without making fun of me (at least to my face).

I was desperate for a date night even with a brand new baby and you babysat for us overnight even when it meant she had to sleep in between you all night.

I was sitting on the side of the road unsure what the light on the dash meant and you came and made it go away.

I was always late to pick my kids up from preschool and you would take my call and grab them for me.  Unless of course you were also running late.  Or more likely, with me running late.

I was completely d.o.n.e after toddler Freckles took the basket of clean laundry and one by one stuffed the clothes in the toilet, and you let me come over and pretend it didn’t happen for a couple of hours.

I was sicker than I admitted lying on the bathroom floor in labour with Monster and you dropped everything to come, watch my kids, take me to the hospital, stock my fridge and clean my house.

I was terrified of being alone with my children day in and out during all those deployments and you dedicated one night of every week to me and the kids to have dinner and talk.

I brought you pictures DH sent while overseas knowing you would know what they were of, and you lied through your teeth about every one so I wouldn’t be scared by the truth.

I really love pineapple but  DH hates it and you would bring half of yours over every time so I didn’t go without.

 I told you through tears I was unexpectedly pregnant and
you laughed at me like only a friend can get away with doing when
something so ridiculous happens there is nothing to say.  Then you
picked me up and got me through it.

I made you the first contact should something happen to DH overseas just so I wouldn’t get the news from someone I didn’t know, and you called every time before you stopped by so I wouldn’t think the worst.

I told you if DH didn’t make it back for the birth I would go in alone because I didn’t want anyone else there, and you told me you would park outside the Labour and Delivery Ward for weeks just to make sure that didn’t happen.

I didn’t know how I was going to afford the heating bills for another winter in our zero-efficiency house, and you came and blew insulation into our attic so I didn’t have to. 


I was having a bad week and you would give me shoes with unimaginably high heels so we could go on double dates where all we could do was sit.  Or you would just bring me shoes for no reason. Sometimes I would find anonymous shoes with just my name pinned to the top sitting on a table for me at the church.
The point here is you bought me shoes.

I was always running a kid to the hospital for eating/not eating/throwing up something, or falling onto/into/off of something else as soon as DH would leave and you came and slept on my couch while I sat in the ER.


I was moody/self righteous/immature/scared/lonely/angry/depressed/elated/excited/content, and you shared each with me every step of my journey so far.

Obviously, this isn’t all the same one friend.

It took a village to be my friend.  It took a whole group of people living their faith instead of just speaking it.  It took many nights out, shopping until even Walmart closed, laughter until we peed our pants, tears that were never alone and support when I needed it most.

There were no words when I left 3 weeks ago.  

Goodbye’s aren’t my thing.


But that’s not because you weren’t the most amazing people I could have asked to spend these years with, it’s only because sometimes, there are no words.

 Matthew 25:37-40 
(mostly The Message, but also my own paraphrase, which for the record is not blasphemous in this particular situation) 

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