As I write my beautiful daughter is in the air flying back to Melbourne. The joys of arrivals are heightened by the knowledge of departures. Good and Bye.
I thought about the presents my children gave me for my birthday this year. 
One son gave me Gumboots so my feet would stay warm and dry as I went about my work. And gloves to protect my hands from the perishing cold. 
One gave me a weathervane so I could track the winds and could see how I was in the world dominated by weather. A center-piece for my life. 
Baby Sopsta, my Beautiful Daughter, lately known as Aunty Baby, gave me a pile of slate stakes so I could name my plants as I set them out, keeping track of the labels in my world. 
So I could not get lost in my garden. So I could plant beloved words in the soil of my other home. Slates to write on.
Every time my daughter and I take leave of each other we pretend that we are just popping out for a minute. We keep our voices light and breezy and never say anything deep or meaningful. We made the decision to do it like this because if we hesitate we just howl. And how could these things be put into words anyway.
So today I shall begin to gently fold all the treasured terrible goodbyes into soft tissue, patting and packing all the tears into their own wee virtual box. Tomorrow after leaving my incredible sons and their beautiful beloveds, I shall close the lid, stroke the marks and scars of previous shuttings, carefully latch the little gold hooks, then stow the wee box of me into that waiting corner of my mind where I can keep it safe and quiet, without letting the weight of it drop me to my knees.
I said to one of my driftnet friends the other night that I feel as though I have lived many lives already. We are all like that I think.
Have a lovely day.
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
38 responses to “Icecream and a Beach on the Eve of the first Goodbye.”
Beautiful, moving, right to the heart, post.
I thought I was the only one on earth who has small, carefully packed boxes in my heart. This is such a beautiful post. XXXOOO
I remember a male colleague barking at me one day after a heavy day in Education. A small group of us were waiting for our dinner reservation to roll around. I’d been describing one of the houses I would housesit between these contracts which always meant living away from home. He was angry. He said after his second scotch, “When the hell are you ever going to settle down…buy a house or something normal like other people?”
I said, “I’m not sure I could live the way you do. In fact I think your life would scare me as much as mine obviously scares you.”
I like having a multi-faceted life. It holds its own brand of stress and drawbacks, but I’ve never been at a loss for challenge or stimulation.
As I grow older, I cherish the memories and even wonder how I took on some of those things. I used to laugh and say I was living to put lots of fuel in my rocking chair.
Now I’m not so sure there’ll even be room for a rocking chair! Bless you in your leavings, Celi.
Sorry that it is already time for good-byes, Celi. Gee, that went by fast! I am glad you had this opportunity, though, and only wish that Time had slowed just a bit for you all.
At least a painful goodbye is a sign of love. 🙂
The second to last para is so incredibly beautiful and well written…so poignant. Goodbyes are so tough. But I suppose that is what makes the hellos so sweet. Many lives indeed. Enjoy your day. 🙂
That’s a great way to handle the good byes, C, I’m always a basket case when I leave my Aunte’s place in Hungary. What sweet and thoughtful gifts your children gave you, I can hardly wait to see them in action on the farmie.
We have lived many lives, haven’t we? I feel the same feelings whenever I have to take leave of my sister who lives on the opposite coast. We also keep it light so we don’t howl upon our leavings. As I get older, these feelings become more acute. I love the imagery of the wee box you so eloquently described. Your family feels the same way about you, don’t you know… How wonderful you get to receive this kind of love! Many blessings on your continued journey. Life is indeed rich, and the pain is a reflection of that!