The Long Goodbye

Italians can't just say goodbye and go. When you are saying farewell after a meal together, you must first decide if you will partake in an after dinner coffee. The tiny espressos usually take longer to get to the table than the meal did, as the waiters get busy with the diners that arrive at the Italian dinner hour, usually as we are finishing and ready for coffee. We, for the most part, arrive just as the restaurants are opening around 7, or more likely 8 in our neck of the woods. So, over coffee, you prepare to say your parting words. Without a doubt you are at the end of your meal. You stand to say goodbye, but chat a little more. Walk to the door, say your adieus, but prattle on. Again at the car, a ciao, but you collect your final words. Finally, a kiss on both cheeks. I think almost two hours can pass, just saying goodbye the Italian way.  I guess that's why saying our final goodbyes to our neighbors has stretched into a few weeks of nights out, and days at the beach together. We have been so busy I can find my way to blurt on Facebook a few moments, but not to blabber on my blog. One activity has stretched out to meet the next. We grown-ups are as bad as our kids, asking for one more minute. No one ever wants the fun to end.

If you are friend or family, you know that we are a military family. I am quite used to the possibility of the call to move always being around the next cobble stoned corner. I keep an uncluttered life, ready at a moments notice. We, ourselves have moved 4 times in the past 7 years, the last time almost 2 years ago. In the past 2 years here, our kids have grown from tattling toddlers to socially mature preschoolers. Their inner circle of friends quite a thing to behold. Their Italian language skills have blossomed, I realize, as I remember following them around in the beginning as their personal translator. I was worried as they were approaching an age where kids begin to play together and not just next to one another, that they would be left out to play only with each other, speaking English.

Time has told a different story. We live in military housing now, on top of, and all around our friends, in rows of apartments. We can see them as they come and go. We wave from our balcony as we hang out our wash; airing the dirty laundry not a worry amongst friends. They are my substitute family; home away from home. They have wiped my kids' noses, dried their tears, and received fistfuls of weedy flowers from them as well. They celebrated the announcement of last years pregnancy and saw me through to the delivery. They have  helped out by driving my other kiddos to school, and loving on the new baby, doting on her, passing her around, rocking her to sleep. From birthday parties to holidays, life deep in the boot heel of Italy is a little less like Lost and a little more like a combo of Modern Family and My Big, Fat Greek Wedding, with the good friends that we have.

Leaving is one thing if you have an adventure waiting ahead of you. But, being left behind is lonely. Over the course of this summer, 4 families will leave us to embark on their own new ventures. Tomorrow we will say, "Antio", goodbye in Greek, to our inspirational Greek friends. This is a family with 3 kids, large by Italian standards who usually stop after 1 or 2 kids, that arrived not knowing the language. They bravely enrolled their 2nd grader and preschooler into school within their first weeks being here in Italy. They arrived with a newborn and had to find a pediatrician and schedule vaccines and check-ups, with the help of a Greek-Italian dictionary. I remember how difficult it was in the beginning watching the kids stare blankly at each other and resort to making animal sounds as they played with plastic beach animals. Evi, the mom of the family, and I have a special bond as being the only moms in all of Italy and Greece that don't believe our kids, 6 amongst us, will catch a cold by actually getting cold.

They came, they saw, they conquered, and they did it all with the most brilliantly positive attitude. Even as their tour here in Italy has been cut short by a misadventure, they have remained optimisticly calm. In knowing these friends, we have been given the opportunity to be good neighbors and help them with little challenges along the way. Knowing people like that, even for a little while, is worth the conversation being cut short. Knowing people like that turns the nonsensical chatter of life into an epic novel.

All of our stories will carry on, but instead of chatting over ice cream cones or prattling over a pizza, we will email and Facebook.We have swapped Greek, American, and Italian recipes, over conversations about the etymology of Greek, American, and Italian words.  There are no words in any of the languages for how much they will be missed, but I think my kids' dollhouse that they have emptied of its tiny furniture, with the toy moving-container semi-truck parked in front tells me what they see. In fact, it speaks volumes. They see an empty apartment, and a sea of silence between them and their friends. I hope someday we will meet again, perhaps next time in Greece where we can say our long Italian goodbyes over Greek coffee and Baklava.