I don't think so, Shakespeare. At least, today's parting was not sweet. It was mostly just sad. Leaving a place that has been home for some time is always hard, but getting left behind is worse, I've decided.
This morning, Guissell and I dropped off Kelsey (and Ethan) at the airport. They carried three checked bags, two backpacks, a guitar, and a cat. All of Kelsey's life at this point (minus one suitcase she had already sent to the US). In other words, she is going home for Christmas and not coming back.
For months people have been talking to me about how I feel regarding Kelsey's departure, and I kept using Elisha's line when the prophets said his mentor, Elijah, would be taken away from him: "I know, but do not speak of it."
But the time for denial is long gone. The girl who has shown up on most of my facebook "year in review" pictures will no longer be in our house. I will make less coffee in the mornings. I won't have to turn off as many lights. I will see the rocking chair empty most of the time. Her annoying cat, to which I feigned indifference, but really actually cared about, is not there to greet us when we walk in the door or fling herself about the house when she gets in a mood. Kelsey will not be there on the bus rides to Managua with me. She won't be giving me the eye when I'm working at nine o'clock at night. When I go to the store, I don't need to buy bread to make her day or pick up red wine on special occasions. My musical inputs will be severely limited since her playlists and portable speaker are also gone now.
Kelsey and I worked together, and even though our official job descriptions don't overlap too much, we actually bounced a lot of ideas off of each other. She got me through strategic planning sessions at the Nehemiah Center, and I was her sounding board for Dordt College's off-campus semester in Nicaragua. We pulled together teams, translated and interpreted, made connections in our networks for each other. She has been an important part of my time in Nicaragua.
Perhaps this all sounds a bit melodramatic for some, and it might be (I never said I wasn't theatrical). She's not dead, after all. But she is gone. And things will never be the same. I have said goodbye to enough close friends to know that we won't stop being friends, but things are never the same. We won't be able to fall in together and never have to explain our references. We won't be able to name things and "just know" anymore. I won't be able to flop onto her bed at night to chat or watch some show with her. Time together from now on will be "visits." So yes, something significant has ended.
The crazy thing is, Kelsey and I were not "two peas in a pod." More like apples and oranges. We are both young women doing our best to serve God and others, but that's about where the resemblance ends. She is mostly introverted, I am mostly extroverted. She keeps her cards close, I wear my heart on my sleeve. She can be many things to many people, and I tend to blunder my way through the same with everyone. Many times when we shared deep things with each other, Kelsey would look at me, shake her head, and say, "We are SO different."
Yet despite those differences, we became fast friends. We made a choice that the fights and the forgiveness and the misunderstandings were worth it. We chose to love each other, to let each other in... Well, I chose to let her in - I can't speak for her.
I chose to let Kelsey into my heart even knowing that she had an exit date. Guissell and I were talking on the drive home from the airport whether or not it's viable to get very attached to people. They always leave. You can't depend on others too much. And yet. You have to let other people in, or you will live a very lonely life. My life has been fairly short and painless, so I'm still figuring stuff like this out. The pain when someone you rely on leaves or dies is pretty horrendous. But I have a theory that never letting anyone get close enough to hurt you would hurt even worse, so I think I'll keep my heart open. And in that opening of the heart, I will remember that there is someone who is my best friend, who will never leave me. Jesus Christ is my home, and I need to keep that before me. God turned his back on his Son so that He would never have to leave me. That's the good news of Christmas, and that's hope even when I'm left behind.
