Paradise Preoccupied

I’ve been writing a lot about friends lately, and the impact they have on my life and on my veranda … and now it’s time to talk a bit about the hard part of this: how they come, and how they go.

Portia rather dropped in from out of the sky, which was a bonus, and we put her on a plane back to South Africa this morning. I’ve only known her for a few days, but she fit well into the family and is already missed.

Magnar has been around for much longer, although not to the same degree as he has been this week. (Note the photo of the exploding Norwegian and get an idea of his impact on my veranda.)

Magnar and I are having a big party here tomorrow to mark the occasion of his 36th birthday … photos and blog posts to follow. What we’re not talking about, not even for a minute if I can help it, is the fact that it will also be his going-away party.

Yes, Magnar leaves for Norway Sunday morning, and whether or not he comes back is still up in the air and depends on factors we have little control over … although I am doing my damnedest to ensure a return soon next year.

Just writing that brings tears to my eyes, but this blog is supposed to be therapeutic, so I must slog through the feelings his imminent departure conjures.

To tell the truth, I really don’t know how I’m going to make it without him.

Magnar has saved me, and not only through his tremendous hugs and comforting love, but also because he’s a bloody annoying nag that can fix anything. He has taken such good care of me and the kids, leveled my road, sorted out computer issues, set up my phone so I can access the Internet from anywhere, taught Sam the value of hard work and challenges, and generally set the bar for all of us inspiring the best, and not just to make him proud, but because he sees us for what we are and believes in us.

(He just saw me crying while writing and noticed how much I need a hug. He knows I’m writing about him, so asked me to include something about how often I’ve left him snot-covered. Feckin’ Norwegian!)

People come into my life, then they go … although never completely. With the Internet, I now have dear, dear friends I’ve never met, and for those who have shared my veranda a way to stay in touch every day and forever. And how great is that?

But change is a part of life, and with island life a predictable part of the process. I’m much better at airport good-byes than I was the first few years here, and see them coming years in advance, but some are impossible.

This one will be impossible, and the only hope I have of not falling to bits is to be so hungover that my head stops my heart from noticing.

Yes, I have wonderful friends … the best in the world … now they just have to stop leaving me.