Twenty three years ago when I left my job in NY and moved down here to live with the Man, my boss insisted on throwing me a farewell party. I had just wanted us all to go to lunch and be done with it--but she insisted on also having a cake and a fuss at the library. And I lost it and broke down in tears.
Twenty three years later, with my 50th birthday coming up this fall, you'd think that I'd be more mature about things. But I'm not.
When my boss of 14 years--probably the best boss I have ever had, and I told him so--left work this week, I managed not to say goodbye.
I had to leave early on Wednesday because JR had an orthodontist appointment AND because I was bringing the girls up to PA to be with my parents that evening.
So not only did I leave early, I left an extra hour early while my boss was uptown doing his exit interview.
Because I just couldn't say goodbye.