I Hate Goodbyes

My in-laws came all the way from Ohio to see us this last week. Today, they had to go home. I was able to block out the the packing and the loading of the vehicle. I sat on my bed with my fingers in my ears and my eyes squeezed shut. Okay, not really, but the thought crossed my mind. I knew that loading the vehicle meant that soon they would be gone. The place in the driveway where the big blue truck was parked would be vacant. Their company and conversation would be over. Life would be normal again…well, as normal as it gets for us. I sat thinking sad thoughts when suddenly, it was time. My heart started pounding. I got teary. We hugged goodbye. I cried. Terry led in prayer. And then, that feeling came. The feeling when you get to the end of a great story, but you just hate to see it end.

Yeah, that feeling.

They got in their truck. It was at that moment that I felt the strong desire to jam my feet into the closest pair of shoes, grab my baby boy and dash outside to wave goodbye. I hollered (because that’s what we do in the south) to my children to come out and wave, too.

We all stood out in the driveway and waved.
And we yelled out “Goodbye! We love you!”

And they waved and yelled back from the passenger side window.
Granddad honked the horn. 
Goodbye, Grandma, Granddad and Great Gramma! We love you.
Come back soon. 
Please. 

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