Historically, I've been terrible at goodbyes. I hate leaving, hate other people's leaving, and become sad, wistful, and teary. The Monday that I left Chicago though (alright, technically Milwaukee) was a different story.
Squee and I had a lovely, long, slow goodbye.
Monday morning I helped get her kids off to school, which was pleasantly, domestically enjoyable. It felt very family-normal-good. Squee, Kit, and I walked with their youngest daughter, S. to the bus stop. At one point S. rolled her eyes at us, and said, "This is too many grownups at the bus stop." (Because we're tragically uncool like that.) But it didn't stop her from playing seedpod soccer with me and her dad for a while until the bus came. I joked to Kit that it was the opposite of "Futbol Picante".
Eventually the time came for Squee and I to get on the road, and we did so early, so we could really take our time at it. This was a very good choice.
We drove to the airport, and then circled it a bit, sussing out our best options to maximize time. I curb-checked my bags, and we got back in the car to park, sit, talk, and really channel our schmoop.
Coincidentally, a good schmoop channeling takes about 45 minutes.
Then we went inside, and in front of a busy terminal of strangers proceeded to hug and kiss for a while. It was tender, and good.
I was able to go through security without being a weepy mess. Then I had a nice, easy flight home. I got my car out of the long term parking at a hotel near the airport, and drove home. Missy wasn't home yet from her busy day, so I got some special time with the cats. Well, half of them.
On the whole it was a most excellent set of goodbyes and hellos.