When I was 6, my family moved from Denver to Grand Junction. I must have comprehended the scope and finality of the move because before the big orange truck hauled our worldly goods westward, I threw myself a Goodbye Party.
Too bad my mom didn’t find out about the party until the night before when one of the neighborhood moms called to ask what time the Goodbye Party was, and could she bring anything?
My mom did something amazing, exhibiting mercy and giving me example of grace under pressure. She baked cupcakes. She was mad, but she provided treats, settled on a time, and made sure everyone I invited on the sly would arrive at the same time. I said goodbye to Jared, Chris, Shelly, Julie, Danielle, Sarah, Paula, Bethany, James, Mary. I said goodbye to Hans the Irish Setter, who lived next door.
I have no idea what happened to Jared, Chris, Shelly, Julie, Danielle, Sarah, Paula, Bethany, James, Mary.
Presumably, they all grew up and have families of their own. For a few years, my mom stayed in touch with some of their mothers via Christmas cards and local phone calls when we’d rumble into Denver to visit my Grandma Alice. Some of them eventually moved out of the neighborhood, too. People scatter, people ripple out. It can’t be helped.
That was my first taste of leaving a place and a group of people. I had to adjust to new mountains, a new address, and a new phone number. There were new neighborhood kids to meet.
Jenny, Jeff, Chris, Michelle, Kristin, Ryan, Nicki, Jason, Brian, Kristy.
I just realized I should have thrown a surprise Hello Party. My mom could have christened our new kitchen with the help of Betty Crocker’s knowing smile—through her own gritted teeth.
But isn’t that life? It seems like there is always a Hello Party or a Goodbye Party to attend. Or throw.
It’s rare when we can plan a Status Quo Party, celebrating the grooves we’ve worn into the hardwood of permanence. The very next day, someone will announce a cross-country move or a decision to leave a workplace, or school, or church. And there you are with last night’s koolaid mustache still on your upper lip wondering what happened.
For goodness sake, the balloons still have helium!
Pop.
It’s hard to say goodbye. We are waving so long to two families who have meant a lot to us. One family is moving to Illinois (look out, Land of Lincoln) and another is leaving our kids’ school. I’m sad about both developments, but excited for them as they pursue new opportunities and go where God wants them to be right now.
Godspeed, friends.
(from the Semisonic song Closing Time)
