Cold Turkey

“Saying goodbye, going away, seems like goodbye’s such a hard thing to say”
Scooter ~ The Muppets

After two weeks filled with family, quirky Dutch traditions, and endless conversations (in Dutch!) it was finally time to say goodbye to my parents, brother, and sister-in-law this Saturday. Now I am no good at saying goodbye. Absolutely no good. I always get upset, my stomach gets all queasy, and I cry. And when I cry, it’s not a pretty movie-cry, no, it involves a red face, red eyes, a mouth pulled into a funny-looking grimace, and lots of snot. It’s ugly. I always admire husband-dear who can just give someone a big bear hug, a pat on the back, and move on swiftly, simply reminiscing on the good times he just had.

I have always been horrific at saying goodbye. I’m not sure when my ability to say goodbye and move on disappeared, but one of my earliest memories includes a tearful car ride home from spending a few days at my grandparents. I remember being unable to stop (who wouldn’t after days of walking into the park and feeding the ducks, and being allowed to build forts up in the attic), and not calming down until I got to talk to grandma over the phone and she promised me I could come back anytime. I cried when I was eight and my first summer camp was over, I cried every time my cousin and I had spent a weekend together and it was time to go home, and I even cried when my parents, after years of bullying, moved me to a different elementary school, and I had to say goodbye to my classmates on the last day of school. Moving fourteen times or so, both across country and abroad didn’t really help either. Not only did I probably have to say goodbye a lot more than most people, I also ended up making friends from all over the world, who would all eventually move away as well, which inevitably led to more crying.

Last Saturday, it was no different. While the love of my life hugged everyone, smiling and joking, I desperately tried not to cry. It’s funny how the excitement of seeing your family for the first time fades every time you visit, but how the heartache of saying goodbye lingers. This time, though, I managed to hold most of it in until I got home and saw the eggnog I kept forgetting to offer to them.

But I’m much better now. There’s no more crying, just a slight “cold turkey” sensation. I went from tour guide, daughter, sister, sister-in-law, and obvious foreigner, to plain old me. No one can tell I’m a foreigner anymore, there are lists of chores to be done, no one to entertain the dog while I shower, and SpongeBob once again rules our living room. And the worst part? I ate almost all of the “dropjes” , and read most of the magazines they brought me. I guess it’s almost time for another trip to Holland!