Being a military child, I've had experiences and opportunities undeniably amazing. But the part of that journey that is unnoticed, is how hard it can be to say goodbye to those you have come to call family. An 'unspoken rule’ in the military is when moving to a new place you say “I’ll see you later” instead of goodbye. I have found moving and losing your support system is like a death. The people you leave behind are there and you can talk to them, but nothing is ever the same again. You’re confronted with all stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
My hardest “I’ll see you later” was with my best friend of nine years, Kaitlynn. At the time we lived in a town outside of Chicago, and I was moving to my families hometown in Virginia, while she was staying there. I remember the day to a T, even down to the weather. It was my last day of freshman year of high school and Kaitlynn, and I had already said our goodbyes the day before, but as I was with my neighborhood friends, I saw her walking home, and I ran after her. She and I, we knew about goodbyes, and we knew it was all apart of “the job.” Our fathers were military men, and we were the kids along for the ride. But as my parents came around the corner in their packed up cars, ready to take me across the country, Kaitlynn and I exchanged looks knowing this was the real “I’ll see you later moment.” It was like a scene out of a movie. Everything we had denied up until this point had now overwhelmed us and our hearts were as heavy as the dark black clouds above us, ready to release its downpour.
Personally, I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve had to say those words, but as I grew older the meaning and feeling changed. When you’re young you throw a goodbye party and laugh and dance and in the morning you hug and wave out the window, like any other sleepover. But as you get older, the words become just like that black cloud of knowing but not wanting to acknowledge what’s about to unfold. As I grew older, the feeling grew into a helpless, empty, aversion, and my stage of anger and depression. “I’ll see you later” was my shield; a way of saying goodbye but still leaving you with enough courage and strength to let go and actually leave. I was mad, I was hurt, I didn’t understand. Why do I always have to leave, why do I always have to say goodbye? I kept saying over and over again, I’m so tired of saying goodbye. But you learn to wipe your tears, take a deep breath, pick your chin up, stick your shoulders back, and move forward.
Of course, with goodbyes come promises, the bargaining part. You’ll call each other. You’ll write. You’ll keep in touch. Sometimes you do keep in those promises and sometimes, you never actually speak again. From these experiences, though, I’ve noticed how not only my friendships have changed, but also how I have. Eight moves, and twenty years in, I’ve reached my acceptance stage. I don’t bother with those who don’t offer anything to my life or encourage me to grow. Instead, I surround myself with people who push me to be a better me, who don’t judge me, who make me feel loved unconditionally. People who fill my soul with light and make it whole. I find my new family and I hold them close to my heart. Part of me is always scared of having to say those four seemingly laid back words, but the other part knows goodbyes are inevitable, there will always be goodbyes. Now, instead of living in those first four stages of grief, I cherish and treasure every second God gives me with those I love and adore.
“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” –Luke 12:34
