Goodbye

There are two types of goodbyes. There is a kind of goodbye where you kiss the people you love, find your seat on the train, and look out the window and wave. And you think: “I’ll see you next Tuesday” or “I’ll see you at Christmas.” That kind of goodbye requires the type of waiting when you know something is coming, sooner rather than later. It’s like waiting for a party where you know you’ll see someone you like, or waiting for the evening bus that takes you home. And maybe you are sad, but you look out the window and wave and you feel okay.

But there is another kind of a goodbye, a kind of goodbye that I am all too familiar with at this moment as I sit in the middle of Budapest absolutely alone. There is a kind of goodbye that puts a fist in your heart when you get on the train; there is a kind of goodbye that will elicit tears at any given moment. The moment you think your tears are finished, you will look down at your lap while you’re drinking your coffee and you’ll realize that your eyes are wet. This is the kind of goodbye that makes you unable to do anything but look out the window on the train and play moments over and over again in your head. This is the kind of goodbye that makes you feel as if you are waiting for something, but you are not sure what. This is the kind of goodbye that is the most beautiful and the most terrible.

I said goodbye to Ukraine and got on the train to Budapest. The entire train ride, I imagined my mind was a video camera, and I rewound my mind to play back every moment of my time in Ukraine from the beginning. I remembered meeting Sydney in Budapest and running to each other as if we had known one another for a lifetime, though we had only met once before. I remember getting to Ukraine and feeling absolutely giddy that I was back in Eastern Europe. I remember going to the orphanage for the first time. I remember when Sydney fell down the stairs at a café and I had tears running down my face I was laughing so hard. I remember going on walks alone and being incandescently happy about being in Ukraine. I remember going on runs in the forest with my favorite Ukrainian; I remember every moment. I remember drinking tea in a little kitchen. I remember all of the people; never have I met so many incredibly loving people as I have in the past three months. I remember strong coffee and listening to the Ukrainian language. I remember walking home at nighttime along the river in the cold weather and having the wind bite my cheeks. I remember listening to music in my bed when I couldn’t sleep. I remember singing the ABC’s every day at the orphanage; I remember what the children’s faces look like when they try to focus. I remember Korchi, Zyna, Ivan, Sasha, and every beautiful, orphaned child I had the pleasure of meeting. I remember trying to speak Ukrainian. I remember my favorite coffee guy that sells coffee out of the back of a van. Every moment in Ukraine was worth remembering.

So, Ukraine: I am madly in love with you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for every beautiful, wonderful, sad, happy moment. I am the luckiest girl in the world. Thank you for teaching me the difference between stoicism and strength, between fragility and sensitivity.Thank you for your beautiful people; thank you for him, her and them. Let’s make this a “see you later” rather than a goodbye, shall we?

Love always,

Hannah