“I’m avoiding you so I don’t have to say goodbye.”

My sister doesn’t like goodbyes. Ever since we were little and our dad used to go away on business trips, she’s dreaded the last few minutes before someone leaves. It’s funny how a simple goodbye can feel so loaded, triggering worries not even fully formed but potent nonetheless.

We hug and say goodbye anyway, eyes red and voices unsteady, trying not to set each other off. I hug my niece, hug my nephew (to the extent that you can hug a small wriggly person that stands only 1.5 feet off the ground), and tell them they can follow me on the big map at Grandma and Papi’s house. I know they don’t really understand what’s happening, but Avery at least will like looking at the map.

I back out of the driveway, spurred by tiny hands waving, grinning faces, a teary smile from Kate. I wave, my own eyes spilling over as I drive away. I let them, smiling.

I am relishing these tears. It feels good to cry tears that aren’t of frustration and disappointment. Tears of excitement, fear, tears of love and missing- these don’t erode me. They make me feel alive.