We’re going to be homeless until November, so we’re cooped up at my parents-in-law’s house in Northamptonshire while our things make their way to Finland by train, then lorry, then ferry. There is still a bit of a sense of being in limbo. That has lessened over time as more things got underway. Now there’s only one set of goodbyes left to say, one bag to pack and one vehicle to get on before Project Väinämöinen, as I’ve been calling it, is finished (Väinämöinen is the hero of the Finnish folk epic Kalevala). Phase I is already finished, at any rate – I suppose unpacking, etc, is Phase II.
I’ve been surprised at the things I tear up about and don’t tear up about. I thought I would be stoic and business-like saying goodbye to my work colleagues and feel bereft as the last lights of London dimmed in the rear-view mirror, but it was the opposite. Nursery was (predictably) the worst – it felt like saying goodbye to my children’s childhood and all the people that have ever loved them.
I’ve discovered there’s such a thing as goodbye fatigue. 😓 You have the urge to try to crystallise into a last moment everything you are grateful for for having known that person, but also imply that you will certainly see each other again soon, even though at the back of your heard you’re wondering whether this is the actual last time; then say something meaningful about all that with a voice gone all squeaky, while also feeling guilty about not having spent more time with this clearly great person… Saying goodbye many times in a row takes an emotional toll.