Goodbyes Are Hard

We haven’t started saying real goodbyes yet, but lately everything feels like a prelude to one. The closer our move to France gets, the more ordinary days start to feel different. A simple drive through town, a coffee at a favorite café, or a family dinner now carries a quiet awareness—this part of our life is slowly winding down.

It’s not sadness exactly, more a gentle shift in how we see things. Familiar places seem sharper, more meaningful, as if they want to be remembered. Friends ask about our plans with a mix of excitement and disbelief, and each conversation reminds us that the countdown has quietly begun.

We still have time, but it’s already shrinking around the edges. Boxes filled with things headed for donation, to-do lists growing heavier, and the dream that once felt far away is finally becoming real. Change is close enough to feel—and with it comes the first echoes of goodbye.

Andras: The First Echoes of Goodbye

This year, when I left Sequim and moved in with Lelaine, it felt like the first real reminder that things were getting serious—and that our move to France wasn’t just a dream anymore. I didn’t expect it to hit me the way it did. Leaving a place I’d called home for years made everything suddenly tangible.

I started missing a few friends and familiar faces from town—the ones you bump into at the grocery store or wave to at the golf course. My friend and I still play when we can, but now that fall is here and winter’s around the corner, I know those rounds will become fewer. Each game feels like one of the last.

We’ve already passed a few “lasts” without even realizing it at first—a last birthday, last Fourth of July, and soon our last Halloween, Christmas, and New Year here. Mixed emotions creep in, sadness and excitement sharing the same space. I’m ready for what’s ahead, but I’m also aware that each goodbye has already quietly begun.

Lelaine: The Weight of Near Goodbyes

Lately, I’ve noticed how the idea of leaving has started to settle into daily life. It’s not heavy or sad all the time—just small moments that suddenly catch me off guard. Talking with friends, spending time with my children and my mom, or holding my new grandson—these moments feel both ordinary and precious. When I’m walking through familiar stores, bowling on Wednesdays with my team, or teaching a lesson, I’ll think, next year, I won’t be here. It’s strange how something you once dreamed about can feel both thrilling and bittersweet at the same time.

I’m beginning to see my surroundings differently. The routines that once felt ordinary now feel sacred. Coffee with friends, time with family, small traditions I’ve always taken for granted—they all seem to fly by so quickly now that I know they’re temporary.

There’s a quiet tug between wanting to hold on to this simple, familiar life and wanting to move forward to experience places I’ve never seen. Part of me wants to pause time and soak it all in; the other part is eager to start this new chapter we’ve worked so hard for. Maybe that’s what this season is about—learning to say goodbye with gratitude, knowing that every ending holds the promise of a new beginning.

Together in Transition

As the move gets closer, we find ourselves caught between two worlds—the life we’ve built here and the one waiting for us across the ocean. Some days, it feels like we’re already living in both at once. Half our thoughts are on downsizing, packing lists, appointments, and paperwork; the other half is on family dinners, friends, and moments we’re trying to hold on to just a little longer.

There’s something comforting about going through it together. When one of us feels the weight of leaving, the other somehow steadies the moment. We remind each other why we’re doing this—what we’re moving toward—and it helps turn the sadness into something softer, more like anticipation.

The house feels different now. Corners once filled with belongings are slowly emptying, replaced by piles of clothes and boxes marked for donation, gifts to family, or trips to the dump. Lelaine is finding it challenging to downsize her entire life, and I see how much strength it takes. Every day brings one more small step away from what’s familiar and one step closer to what’s next. We’re learning that goodbyes don’t always have to be painful; sometimes, they’re just the quiet pause before a new beginning.

Looking Ahead

We know the hardest part of this journey won’t be the move itself—it will be the leaving. The goodbyes, the empty rooms, the last looks around a place that has held so many chapters of our lives. But even in that ache, there’s gratitude. Every person, every memory, every small detail we’re saying goodbye to has helped lead us to this point.

France still feels far away in miles, yet closer every day in our hearts. What once seemed like just a plan is now a living, breathing reality taking shape right in front of us. We talk about it more often now—not as a dream, but as a destination.

There’s still so much to do before we go, and we know it won’t all be easy. But the idea of beginning again—together, in a new place—brings a sense of peace that outweighs the fear. Goodbyes are hard, yes, but they’re also proof that something meaningful is being left behind. And sometimes, that’s exactly what makes the next chapter worth it.