Not

This weekend, Herself, Beloved Husband, and Offspring the Third, together with another friend of Cherished Friend, helped Cherish Friend pack up his house.  It was very busy, but not unpleasant -- Herself (ever the house elf) does enjoy organizing and tidying and taking care of House Things -- except for the fact that each box put on the truck was another step towards Cherished Friend's final movement away from this desert land. Alas.

Herself and her family had the honor of hosting Cherished Friend under their own roof for two evenings, midway through the packing-up and then when the packing-up was complete.  Although Herself does not usually enjoy anyone other than her immediate family in her space, she makes an exception for Cherished Friend. He is a comfortable, comforting presence. It was a pleasure to be able to try to make him comfortable in return during this tiring time.  

She wished there were more she could have done. It never seems to be Enough for her, somehow. There truly is no way to repay Cherished Friend for the gift of his friendship.

-----

When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
- Kahlil Gibran

Herself wonders about this quote.  Yes, it is true that one can oftentimes see a bit more clearly with a bit of distance. But when it says, "you grieve not," what does it mean? Is that a statement? An exhortation? A command?

How can one not grieve?  Even knowing that the change in location is what is best for Cherished Friend, and ever desiring his happiness, does not change the sense of loss we encounter in that moment after he has driven away.  

When we contemplate the absence of Offspring the First and Offspring the Second, we are not as bereaved. Their presences are here in the house, imbued in their rooms and suffused in their possessions, permeating the very smell of their blankets in the leftover laundry from their time at home for the holidays. They will return, we know.  We wait, consoled by the tangibles of their times at home with us. And hope to see them soon. 

In contrast, we do not know when we will see Cherished Friend next. His presence has been packaged up with his household goods, and even the usual scent of his house has faded. We have solely his jacket, inadvertently left behind, and the basket we keep on the counter for his keys and phone when he visits. Alas. 

We stand on the windy mountaintop, waiting and listening for the echo of him, and the whispers are so very faint.  

Nevertheless, we wait. And hope to see him soon.