Worth Missing

My Texas home. I said goodbye 35 years ago.

On a recent Saturday morning, I stood on my street and waved goodbye to our young neighbor as she headed to a new state to begin a new adventure. We had watched her grow up. My son, Cade, is still friends with her, and he was there that morning to see her off.

Her dad had loaded the U-Haul and was preparing to accompany her on the drive, making sure she arrived safely. Her mom and sister held on a little longer, lingering in their hugs. As the U-Haul rounded the corner and disappeared from view, I looked around. 

Kids who were now adults waved until she was out of sight. 

Then her mom began to cry.

I had a lump in my throat throughout the goodbyes, but seeing her tears broke the seal. Mine flowed freely down my cheeks. Cade laughed and pulled me into a hug.

Goodbyes have been all around me lately. With the end of the school year, graduations, and new beginnings, I suppose it's normal to feel the weight of change. Do I like it? Not exactly—even when I know it's for the best.

My nephew graduated from high school a few weeks ago and will head off to college this fall, a few hours away from home. I'm so excited for him, but I also understand the emotions that will come with that transition for my brother and sister-in-law.

Our home is now an empty nest, and my kids live within thirty minutes of me. Did I bawl my eyes out when they moved out? You bet I did.

Randi, my daughter, moved out at eighteen to begin college. Seeing her room packed up a few days before the move stirred emotions in me I didn't know existed. It was real. It was the end of a chapter.

I thought I was ready. Clearly, I wasn't.

But she was.

And she thrived.

A few years later, we moved her into an apartment with her boyfriend. She was starting her teaching career and, for the first time, living somewhere other than student housing. Family and friends were there to help, but one by one they left until it was just the two of us putting the finishing touches on her new home.

I was placing the last of her books on a bookshelf when it hit me. She was growing up. She was building a life of her own.

I began to cry.

A good, hard cry.

She wrapped her arms around me, and we cried together.

A few years later, Cade moved out at twenty-one, and this time I thought I was ready.

I wasn't.

We spent the day moving furniture, buying groceries, assembling shelves, and setting up his apartment. When it came time to say goodbye, I simply couldn't do it.

He hugged me tightly and assured me he would be okay.

Eventually, I pulled myself together and said goodbye.

As Mr. C and I headed down the hallway, I heard a door open behind us. I turned to see Cade walking toward us. He wrapped us both in a hug and said, "Thanks for everything. I love you."

Oh, my heart.

Our home would never be the same. Sure, they might come back—I did—but it would never be the same. George Banks said it perfectly in Father of the Bride:

“She's just a kid. And she's leaving us.”

Shortly after I graduated from high school, I moved a thousand miles away, leaving my best friend and the only home I had ever known.

It was awful.

Beautiful, green Texas was vastly different from the neutral tones of the Arizona desert. There were so many times I cried, desperately wanting to go home. Thirty-five years later, I'm still in the desert—a place I have grown to love—but a piece of Texas will always live deep in my heart.

Ironically, that same best friend and I lost touch for more than twenty years, only reconnecting a few months ago. As we caught up on decades of life, she shared that she would soon be moving across the country.

Once again, I found myself saying goodbye.

The older I get, the more I realize life is a series of goodbyes. Some are dramatic and life-changing. Others happen quietly on an ordinary Saturday morning as a U-Haul pulls away from the curb.

None of them are easy.

But every goodbye exists because something mattered. A child grew up. A friendship endured. A new adventure began.

Maybe that's why they hurt so much.

With every goodbye, we leave a piece of ourselves behind and carry a piece of someone else forward. The people we love become woven into who we are. They travel with us in our memories, our stories, and the quiet moments when we least expect them to appear.

And through all the tears and the ache that comes with letting go, I'm grateful.

Grateful for the babies who grew up.

Grateful for the friendships that stood the test of time.

Grateful for the people I've loved and the moments we've shared.

Because while goodbyes may break our hearts a little, having someone worth missing is one of life's greatest gifts.