when it's time to say farewell to a visiting friend, a beloved family member, or to an unrequited love spanning decades in a rural airport in France (☚ oh yeah, that's definitely a scene for a new Nicholas Sparks novel/movie), 99.9% know exactly what to say.
ex-act-ly.
it's as if a Shakespearean ghost whispers the perfect adieu that warms the heart, and conveys the deepest joys of the time spent together during that Labor Day weekend BBQ; or the heart-wrenching, unspoken sorrows/regrets at that rural French airport.
*quick google search if there is such a thing as a rural airport in France* 🤔 👍🏻
you might think that someone with a blog spanning 14 years, and 95 published posts, should be a veritable whiz with the words--hurling them about with dexterity, capturing the beauty of each moment with an existential imagery that lingers l o o o n n g g g after the words fade.
well, you'd be wrong, because I suck at goodbyes.
*sigh*
I'm ashamed to admit it, but over the years, I've developed a pathetic coping-mechanism for my "goodbye impotence." I smile, give hugs, and utter these unbelievably trite and seemingly insincere words (feel free to join me for a pre-emptive overt eye roll)...
"This isn't goodbye, there's always ("the phone" circa 1981-1990, "email" 1994-2003, "Facebook" 2004-2010, "twitter" 2010-2011, and now...) Insta!"
🤦🏻♀️
so with that background info, imagine my jaw-dropping shock at my latest goodbye predicament propped inside Meijer's entrance/exit airlock--
my first thought was to drop to my knees, raise my fist and shout at the Meijer gods,
"noooooooooo!"
but that would make me a Meijer/Starbucks crazy, so I opted to stop, stare, then woodenly point my phone/camera. #forposterity
the beloved Starbucks, hipster-tucked unassumingly in Meijer's corner is... gone. and that-- that sign, that Starbucks goodbye... was the ultimate anti-goodbye.
no whispering ghosts, no imagery, no unrequited chest pangs of hope and/or regret as the AirFrance commuter jet slides from the gate (I'm serious Nicholas S, this needs to be a novel/movie--call me). just the Starbucks Siren perched atop a white placard, Meijer font in Meijer blue and Meijer red, with a date.
hours later, after going through the 5 stages of grief (one of the perks of being shallow is a quick grief turnaround time), I whispered,
"brilliant."
then sipped my tall, coconut milk hot chocolate, no whip, on the patio at a Starbucks, a quarter of a mile away from... Meijer, the superstore.
