It’s so strange. In three days, I and two of my best friends here in Madrid will be flying home, leaving behind two years of life and experiences. So much has happened. So much has been seen. So much has been said. So much has been eaten. So much time and happiness. So many people and friends. So many places and things.
We have lived here. LIVED.
And it is coming to a close. This season of our lives is ending. Admittedly, I could very well see myself coming back here in the nearish future, but this moment in my life can never be repeated. This wonderful group of friends would be disbanded throughout the world. I wouldn’t be in this memorable little apartment with our lovely landlady and friendly concierge. I would have a different job. It would be different.
And so here I am in my little one-butt kitchen, waiting for one last baking project to finish up in the oven. This evening we’ll have one last picnic in the park. Tomorrow we’ll go on one last excursion outside the city and have one last little group dinner. On Sunday we’ll have one last day at church and one last lunch with a huge group of friends. Early Monday morning we’ll go on one last drive through the city as we head to the airport, and then take one last look at the place that has been our home as we sail up and away towards far off lands.
And it will be finished. Over. Done. And gone.