You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Saying Goodbye forever.
I said goodbye to a friend today. It was a final goodbye. a forever good-bye. The kind of good-bye that is so loud the silence is deafening.
This was a good friend, a special friend, the best kind of friend. This was the kind of friend I could tell anything. This is a friend who told me things that nobody else knows.
Saying good-bye forever isn’t like saying I’ll see ya later. This good bye is final. It’s forever.
Saying goodbye forever is like driving into a lake and sitting in the car, lap strap on, watching the water rise up over the windshield.
Saying good-bye forever is not fast food convenient.
“Hello welcome to Forever good-bye. Can I take your final order?”
Saying good-bye forever to a good friend creates a black hole in your soul.
It blasts away a chunk of stellar matter so deep you need a NASA probe to find the periphery of light.
Saying goodbye forever is not a one hit wonder. It’s a heartfelt line from a classic song.
The medley is indelible, the memory linked to a time and place that has meaning.
Saying forever goodbye is like standing on the dock of the bay and watching the tide roll away. It’s a moment you think about, forever.
When saying goodbye forever to the best kind of friend, it should be done with reverence with respect.
It’s difficult to coordinate forever goodbyes. It’d be nice to sit down, face to face and talk.
But that doesn’t always happen. Sometimes forever good-byes just happen, like a Mike Tyson left hook.
When you say good-bye forever, suddenly, unexpectedly, it can feel like a blind side on the island of Survivor.
It’s like that dazed feeling the cast-a-ways have as Jeff snuffs out their torch and you walk from tribal council into the darkness.
“The Tribe Has Spoken.”
Saying goodbye forever over the phone, via text, in an email?
That leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
That’s like eating a hamburger with the wrapper on.
The taste is in there, somewhere.
But ultimately you are chewing paper and the juice is dripping onto your pants. It’s unpleasant. You need a napkin to absorb the stain.
I didn’t know I was saying forever good-bye, when I picked up the phone.
Had I known, I’d have unwrapped the burger. I would have tasted it. I would have known I was standing on the dock of the bay writing a song and watching the sun set.
Instead – it was wham Bam, Good bye.
Oh by the way, it’s forever.
You want ketchup with that sir?
The shock of the forever good-bye created a numbness. The loud hum in my ears drowned out the reality that forever is a long ass time.
They say nothing is certain but Death and Taxes.
Forever Goodbyes are both.
Forever Goodbyes are the final curtain call without the applause.
Forever Goodbyes are finishing the marathon with nobody watching.
Forever Goodbyes are a drive to the beach and it begins to rain.
Forever Goodbyes delivered by a phone call or email or instagram are a dagger to the emotional psyche.
They are spontaneous and quick like a sanitary wipe.
But Issac Newton’s 3rd law of motion states for every option there is an equal and opposite reaction.
It says that when one is pushed through a fire door and that fire door locks behind you, you are forced to move forward.
Life lives in what’s ahead, not in what’s behind.
When there’s nothing left to say that hasn’t been said a dozen times all ready, hang up and say goodbye.
Let the fire door slam shut.
Can’t go back. Might as well move forward.
That’s where the FOREVER HELLOS exist.
Forever Goodbyes and Fire Doors.
Life’s Crazy™