saying goodbye

I hate saying goodbye. This becomes apparent in my inability, at times, to get off the phone. The last two times I’ve moved I’ve attempted to ease out of town saying, “I’m sure I’ll see you again before I leave,” knowing that I won’t, but not able to admit that I don’t want (and don’t know how) to say goodbye.

Last year at school, I was in a triad with two other students in which we counseled each other, attempting to learn together the art that is therapy. Our group fought and argued and at times I physically wanted to pummel one of the members of our triad (you know who you are), but somehow in that semester together we became friends and learned about fighting for each other rather than against one another. When the semester ended, in true fashion, I, we rather, weren’t ready to say goodbye. The class, the experience of triad was over, but we kept meeting. It’s now December, and we’ve been meeting regularly for well over six months since the class ended. Sarah and Nathan are my people. We’ve journeyed through a year of hellacious and also glorious life together.

I’ve just learned, however, that Sarah is officially withdrawing from school and moving back east. The day she told Nathan and I, we spent a good 20 minutes telling her why it was a horrible decision. I didn’t, and don’t, want her to leave. (Wow, even now I am tearing up.) My triad has been a sacred space for me in the chaos of a disrupting counseling program. And now I have to say goodbye. I can already tell that I want to say, “I’m sure I’ll see you again before you leave,” and gracefully disappear. But I am stuck. Sarah and Nathan won’t let me do that; I have to say goodbye. Damn them.

I don't have a picture of the 3 of us, but this one is from our school Christmas party when Sarah didn't make it to the fun.
ps. I think we could fit 2 Sarahs between us.