Any military kid, boy or girl, strong or weak, older or younger, will tell you that there's this feeling after you get orders. A deep-rooted, nausea-inducing, fiery sadness. They begin to look around, and each experience, each interaction is tainted with a nostalgia. A,
"I may never do this ever again."
A, "I'm going to miss this more than I even know."
You begin to realize that this is getting to be the end. It's getting to be your time. Last ride around the block. Last county fair. Last drinking tea on a slide with your best friend. Last meal at that one special restaurant. Your last words to your friends, your teachers, your neighbors. A lot of graduating seniors experience something similar, but for military kids, it's a beast all its own. An ache that doesn't leave, a heartbeat that always reminds you.
This isn't permanent.
Don't get comfortable.
You know better than to start making permanent right here.
You only have: three months or two years or four years or six months.
You only have a finite amount of time and its best spent knowing that you shouldn't get attached for fear of pain. It hurts, but for many it hurts good. You know it's time to learn and grow and this is just another temporary home, a place of growing old, but it isn't the most permanent. We all know that it's better to accept, adapt and conquer. I don't hold on, and I don't know many who do.
Yet even then, it's a sad day when you stand in the doorway of your house, bags in hand, and think,
"Goodbye."