I don’t know how to explain this feeling.
It’s not just sadness.
And it’s not just joy.
It’s a strange mix feeling that
makes me feel like standing
in the middle of a warm goodbye and a cold room.
Three of you are moving to a new place, closer to your families.
That sentence alone should have made me smile.
And I want you to know that it does.
Because I know how long you’ve wanted that.
I know how patiently you’ve waited, how fiercely you’ve hoped.
And now it’s finally happening.
You’re going home.
But I’m still here.
And I don’t think I’m ready.
You were not just coworkers to me.
To be honest, I’m surprised too.
I never imagined in the place built for deadlines,
I would find you as my sisters.
My comfort.
The ones who saw me
on the days I couldn’t even acknowledge myself.
When the world asked too much, and my heart froze too soon.
When expectations collapsed, and the quiet hummed a tune.
You were the ones who gave me a quiet place to land.
You didn’t always say the perfect things,
but somehow, your presence was the perfect thing.
You helped me hold on to the idea that I’d make it through.
Not easily. Not quickly. But surely.
So yes, I’m happy for you.
So happy I could cry.
But maybe I’m already crying,
not just because you’re leaving,
but because you’ve meant more to me than I ever said out loud.
Now, it’s just the two of us left.
Me and the one sister who stayed.
We will look at each other with that unspoken understanding,
that silent agreement to be each other’s landing place now.
To keep laughing, even when the room is quieter without you three.
To keep checking in, even when the ones we used to check in with
are miles away.
We’ll hold what’s left together gently.
Because we know how much it meant when all of you were here with us.
I want you to know that I’m proud of you.
I want you to know that you deserve this new beginning.
But I also want you to know,
selfishly, and honestly.
That I will miss you.
That your leaving feels like the end of something tender and sacred.
Thank you for everything.
For the laughter.
For the comfort.
For the little moments I’ll replay in my head when I feel lonely at work.
You didn’t just make my job easier.
You made me braver.
And even though you’re going,
I’ll carry you with me.
Every single day.
And for the sister who stays,
I’m glad we still have each other.
Let’s keep holding on.
Not to what was.
but to what still is.
A quiet kind of love that doesn’t leave,
even when so much else has.
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