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The hardest part of love is letting go...
Sep. 24th, 2006 11:56 am"...this house is starting to feel less and less like Home and more like Where I Grew Up. And maybe what it all comes down to is that I’m not so sure I’m ready to be a grown-up." ~ Camryn
Yesterday I said goodbye to Hannah. I don't know when I'll see her again. Maybe not until Christmas 2008.
She came down to San Diego yesterday, and she, Camryn, and I went out together. We got sandwiches and sat by the bay. And I remembered how my eighth-grade trip was in San Diego, and my group had sat by that very bay, and it all seemed so long ago. And then Camryn started talking about "a year ago, today".
A year ago, yesterday, at noon, I was out at lunch with a friend, not particularly looking forward to BritLit. A year ago, yesterday, at noon, Camryn was in our uncle's apartment in Warsaw. A year ago, yesterday, Hannah was at Point Loma, where Camryn and I are now, probably eating lunch. And it's so strange, because we were all such very different people then, and yet when the three of us are together, it's like nothing's changed at all.
I cried when I said goodbye to her. I hugged her like I never wanted to let go. She's not emotional, and she hates hugging, and I knew I was making her uncomfortable, but I didn't really care. She said, "Just think, when I get back you'll be living in Flex." Flex are the on-campus apartments Juniors and Seniors can live in. I think it was her way of saying that when she got back, I would be just a few steps closer to being an adult; when she gets back, we'll be two entirely different people. She told me not to study abroad the Spring semester of my Junior year -- that will be during the first few months she's back -- and I knew that was the closest she'd ever get to admitting she'll miss me.
And this morning I was lying in bed, and I realized that my mom goes through this all the time: every time my mom says goodbye to her brother or sister, she doesn't know for sure when she'll see them again. And often it's years, and my uncle has probably had another girlfriend or two, and my mom has worked with new people and invested even more of herself in her kids, and we kids are a few years older. And it's really all just part of being grown up, and the thing is, I really don't want to grow up anymore. Being grown up hurts too much.
Yesterday I said goodbye to Hannah. I don't know when I'll see her again. Maybe not until Christmas 2008.
She came down to San Diego yesterday, and she, Camryn, and I went out together. We got sandwiches and sat by the bay. And I remembered how my eighth-grade trip was in San Diego, and my group had sat by that very bay, and it all seemed so long ago. And then Camryn started talking about "a year ago, today".
A year ago, yesterday, at noon, I was out at lunch with a friend, not particularly looking forward to BritLit. A year ago, yesterday, at noon, Camryn was in our uncle's apartment in Warsaw. A year ago, yesterday, Hannah was at Point Loma, where Camryn and I are now, probably eating lunch. And it's so strange, because we were all such very different people then, and yet when the three of us are together, it's like nothing's changed at all.
I cried when I said goodbye to her. I hugged her like I never wanted to let go. She's not emotional, and she hates hugging, and I knew I was making her uncomfortable, but I didn't really care. She said, "Just think, when I get back you'll be living in Flex." Flex are the on-campus apartments Juniors and Seniors can live in. I think it was her way of saying that when she got back, I would be just a few steps closer to being an adult; when she gets back, we'll be two entirely different people. She told me not to study abroad the Spring semester of my Junior year -- that will be during the first few months she's back -- and I knew that was the closest she'd ever get to admitting she'll miss me.
And this morning I was lying in bed, and I realized that my mom goes through this all the time: every time my mom says goodbye to her brother or sister, she doesn't know for sure when she'll see them again. And often it's years, and my uncle has probably had another girlfriend or two, and my mom has worked with new people and invested even more of herself in her kids, and we kids are a few years older. And it's really all just part of being grown up, and the thing is, I really don't want to grow up anymore. Being grown up hurts too much.
