Cardboard Walls

I've built a wall - a wall so high that even the Donald would be impressed. (Ew)

This last week has been filled with goodbyes. Many of them were "see you laters", but some, like the one I said this evening to my house, are the forever kind.

I'm a cryer. I'm sentimental, emotional, and gooey. I sympathize and empathize and feel. Man, do I feel. Movies make me cry. Beautiful scenery makes me cry. My sleeping children make me cry. Country music really makes me cry. (And I don't even like it!) But saying goodbye to people and places that I love? I have not cried.

There have been stress cries. The monotonous task of selling a house, finding a house, figuring out finances, planning a move, packing (even as a spectator), dealing with the distance of missing my husband, and the general lethargy of pregnancy and lack of opportunity to indulge in it ... these have all left me in oceans of tears. As have really dumb things like breakouts, and too-tight pants, and worrying about Halloween costumes.

But the lunches with friends? The last hoorahs? Parting ways with people I love so dearly, and will miss so deeply? Sitting with neighbors, and watching my little guy say farewell to his friends? I've built a wall. I know very shortly it will come crumbling down ... It's built of cardboard and the forecast says: rain ahead.

I don't know when it will hit me, this tsunami of tears ... but I'm sure it will happen shortly outside of the Tennessee state line. Or maybe when my parents load up and drive away - leaving my little family alone, an island, in a strange and unfamiliar place. Maybe it will happen after the novelty of the "new adventure" wears off. Maybe it will hit me unexpectedly.

I'm sure good things are ahead. I know we will all adjust. But this part - this leaving part. It's for the birds. And to all of you I saw these last weeks (or wanted to see and failed) - don't let my dry eyes fool you. My heart is heavy. I'm just not strong enough to hold it up.

I love you Nashville. I love you friends. I love you neighbors. I love you family. I love you beautiful country farms, horses and fields. I love you and your silly twangs and awful politics and your overwhelming southern hospitality. I have much to say about my love for this city, but for now - I have more to say about my love for its people. You are excellent. You are wonderful. And you will be dearly missed.