The Goodbye Knot
As soon as we get official orders, the goodbye knot of dread in my stomach starts to form. If I were to make a list of the things I dread about PCSing, saying goodbye wins the gold medal. Yes, I hate the smell of boxes and the sound of screeching tape. And yes, I would give any amount of money to never again have to open my kitchen cabinet doors and have a complete stranger tell me, “Whoa, ma’am, that’s a lot of dishes.”
Once the goodbye knot starts, nothing can make it go away. Not a view of Mt. Rainier on a clear day, not a cup of coffee from my favorite coffee shop, nothing.
Most of us know how strong the bonds of milspouse friendships are. We have personal examples (most likely more than one) of the kind of lasting impact other spouses have made on us.
These are the men and women who become family in less time than it takes to unpack a house. Their kids become an extension of your own kids and before you know it, you are each other’s emergency contact. A few days into the friendship and you’re sharing a bottle of wine while you run down your list of mutual Facebook friends.
But then you blink.
And you get orders.
And the goodbye knot starts to grow.
Last month my goodbye knot started to get the best of me. I had a to-do list that was literally two pages long. I watched on social media and around my neighborhood as other spouses made seemingly effortless work of their lists. Garage sale items were gathered, volunteer and work duties were wrapped up, and change of address forms were filled out.
All the while, my list just sat. Nothing was getting checked off because my goodbye knot was becoming harder and harder to untangle.
One evening last month while attending a farewell (put that at #2 on the list of things I dread about PCSing), I overheard a friend say, “You know, we pour ourselves into these friendships because we know we only have each other for a short amount of time.” Through tears she finished by saying, “Which makes it that much harder to break apart when we leave.”
She’s right, you know. We do exactly that. We make fast friends. We start forming that knot the minute we meet, making that knot so tight, it is impossible to untie.
Maybe that’s what I’m doing wrong. Maybe the knot is so tight, it’s not supposed to be untied. Maybe those friendships with those families are meant to stay the way they are—intact. And maybe the knot hurts because it’s getting tighter, not because it’s being untied.
There is some comfort in that, I guess. Comfort that these people and the friendships we’ve formed will always be with me. Comfort that there will always be room for more friendships no matter where we are stationed. And comfort in the fact that now I should have plenty of time for my to-do list.
