I’m at that stage in moving (from Virginia to Minnesota) where almost anything can be “the last.” The last time I go to the grocery store with the good bakery. The last time I eat at the Oceanside. The last time we go to this playground. The last time I see someone.
I hate this part. I love the new when moving, the adventure of getting there and exploring a new part of the country, but before getting to that point, I must suffer through “the last.”
We never know when “the last” might be. The last time I had a Dairy Queen at the beach was in 2012. I would have enjoyed it more, savored not just the ice-cream, but the way the wind whipped my hair around, threatening my cone. I try not to think too much about “the last.” It tends to bring on the waterworks, especially when it comes to the people who have become so special to me through the years. I refuse to say goodbye or think of it being the last time I’ll see someone.
Instead I say “Auf Wiedersehen” – until I see you again. I hold in my heart that there will be an again and when the again happens, it will be all the sweeter for not being “the last.”