the first good-bye.

On May 31, 2006, I began a tradition which carried on until our last (long distance!) good-bye on May 25, 2009. I cried my eyes out. More often than not, I created a scene. It didn't matter to me. In each good-bye, I found myself at the absolute furthest point from when we would see each other again. Looking back, I always thought the first good-bye would be the worst. The reality is that the good-byes never got easier.  In my opinion, they only got harder.

When this tradition began, we were in the Indianapolis airport. He was heading home to Maine before making his pilgrimage to North Carolina to start his first job. I was home in Indiana until my departure for a summer in France. After nine months of what I deem "convenient dating" while in college, we were embarking on a forced separation, thanks mostly to the Atlantic Ocean.

I assume most people lay the foundation for a long distance relationship with drawn-out conversations about how to make it work.  We didn't broach the topic.  Standing in the airport, I looked into his familiar and comforting eyes and knew he wasn't going anywhere. 

An hour before the first good-bye {5.31.09}