Guess what I learned?
You can’t be sad about leaving a place you love while you’re still there loving it.

Try as you might. That don’t make no sense.

My Last Day, Sunday September 18

I wrote out a long account of details: the whole goodbye.

I had to write it all out. I had to write it like I would share it. So I would remember it all, in order. I won’t share that now. It’s journally, it’s long.

Instead, reflections:

I am not a stranger to goodbye.

I have a goodbye technique. Some people employ the “see you later” thing. They pretend it’s not happening.

This is what I do:

• I reflect, I dig up my first impressions of each person and try them on for size again to see how they (don’t often) fit.
• I tell everyone I’m sad, I’m scared, I don’t want to go.
• I distribute the weight of my emotions around town so I’ll still be tethered there when I’m gone.
• So then I won’t really be gone.

I’ve developed a technique in how not to say goodbye.
While saying goodbye.

So that’s how you do it, if you want the formula.

Trying to squeeze in the last drops of goodness. A musical, a storytelling event, a visit with Aunt Sherri, goodbye visits with all of my friends, still trying to send letters from Alaska to the Lower 48.
Negotiating with my suitcase on what to leave behind: can I bring 4 boxes of smoked salmon in exchange for the books I wanted to finish but didn’t? Am I giving up on the books prematurely? Do I need these ill-fitting socks? Will I regret leaving Ria my pens? Do I need both of these travel pillows? I should just leave the curry from Istanbul. I never used it. But….. Istanbul curry that I bought myself in the Mišir Casisi…. It’s special. I abandon my black sperry rain boots- Amazon Prime, $30. They give me blisters and make me sound like a basketball being dribbled when I walk.

The days counting down to my departure were a flurry of events. Lots of activity.
I didn’t want downtime, either, because I didn’t want to think. I wanted to be there.

But the rain will come and Peace Corps won’t wait. I leave for Guatemala in 7 days.

That night I stayed up writing. I had so much more to write about Alaska. And I had to be in Alaska to write it. Writing about Alaska in Atlanta is like writing about Disney World in a Chuck E. Cheese. Jazmin watched Gilmore Girls on my bed. She rode cockpit to my flurry, unaware of what I was doing but there with me. At 3:30am, I made cheesy pasta and cinnamon potato fries.

I closed my eyes from 4:50am to 5:14am. I was afraid I wouldn’t get up but I hopped out of bed and started up again like I never slept.

I didn’t know much I needed Jazmin there until she was there. 

2 Days before, Saturday.

My last day at work. I needed to write letters, be sentimental, give back all my gear, shore up end of season-bonus and last paycheck, have an exit interview? Unlikely. And eat last-day lunch with my coworkers. Fat Stan’s was closed for lunch. All I wanted was The Palmer Pizza for my goodbye lunch but we ordered weird fancy pizza instead.

A Fond Farewell is like Concentrate: All the sugary saccharine sweetness of relationship with all the dull, or annoying parts, omitted. It’s a rush, it’s comforting, it’s fun, and then you’re gone. No time to be sad, no time to be quiet, no time to be bored. All the feelings and then you’re on a ferry.

I thought: “This feels like the best kind of falling apart.” All day I felt like I was eating my favorite meal, but before the waiter furnished each plate he would say: “Enjoy this! It will never be this good again.”

But on Saturday all of my wirey feelings were pulsing rapidly below the chores. I didn’t have the avenue to express what I really wanted to at that moment, which is PAUSE: SUMMER IN KETCHIKAN, I LOVE YOU. LET’S DANCE. LET’S PAUSE THE CLOCK. But I had a lot of crap to get done. I had to pack, return all my work gear, finish all my cards to my co-workers, review my time card, talk to Boss Eric about moving out and rent, and PACK. On top of that, Aunt Sherri was still in town because she couldn’t catch her flight the night before. So I needed to ensure she got to the airport. Saturday was logisticky and pulled me from the goal which was: HEART HUG KETCHIKAN UNTIL YOU CAN’T NO MORE.

Two days?! That’s all I have left of you, you bizarre island town? 

And I’ve snuggled a fisherman the night before and not slept a wink. Effusive compliments, snuggles, eye contact that makes your heart say “Bless God” in the voice of Bayou Bertha. Now, why is this happening now?!

I keep rolling on. We dispatched the last tour on the dock that I would EVER WORK, I fronted for the Norwegian Sun.Confirm numbers with the Shorex, hold the sign, settle, return to office. Aunt Sherri was there so she got to see me in action. Then I drove her to the airport, ran to storytelling rehearsal and then went home to pack and finish up. What happened Saturday night? I don’t remember. 

Three Days Before:

Aunt Sherri and I go to breakfast. I miss the first three hours of work because my alarm doesn’t go off. I hear from half the town about it, “Oh you’re alive!” Cyrus says when he sees me. Kilt Eric texts “You’re crew is wondering where you are. You better get your shit together.” We rush through breakfast at Sweet Mermaids. I take her to the airport.

I was pacing back and forth in Ohashi dodging my roommates watching Gilmore Girls in their sleeping bags. Doing laundry, sorting things to donate, trash, give away, pack.

Still had farewell notes to start. I also had to practice my storytelling for my last day in Ketchikan, September 19. I’m not sure I was going to have time to nail it down. I might have to just do what I’d already done in stand-up a few years before. 

The anxiety of leaving Ketchikan coupled with the anxiety of moving to Guatemala in six days had me doing a paso doble. Not the professional, graceful, competition-winning kind, the kind where you’re wearing clunky rain boots. 

Then I go in to work. I work from 2-7pm. Aunt Sherri didn’t make it on the flight. I go pick her up. I have a pending date with a fisherman. I get Aunt Sherri all set-up in my room. She is in her pajamas watching Netflix.

4 Days til Departure: Thursday– I was singing on a deck in the rain, hoping to raise money for WISH. 35 minutes of just singing to Laura, alone. A dream come true to sing this musical. I can’t believe I am leaving so soon, but I can’t think too much about that because I have a cold and my vocal cords are fumbling around in the dark room that is the common cold to find these notes. 

It was a dream come true. It was a race to the finish. We scrambled to find a kind gentleman to donate sound equipment last minute. I had a bad cold and was going hoarse. I hit a wall the night before and couldn’t rehearse. I was tired. I was nervous but not ready to admit it yet. I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE.

I spent the last two weeks singing and reviewing the musical, not sure if it would fly. I spent my last day off going to the Misty’s with Aunt Debbie and Uncle Jerry, followed by a party on board the Carnival Legend. It was a great day, but it was no day off.

And then I flew into the last week like a blind bat on cocaine. Wearing Bright Green.

So naturally, my goodbye to Ketchikan felt hurried. I felt unprepared. But I felt unprepared mostly because I didn’t want it to to happen at all.