I read something the other day and thought it was a reflection of my own feelings even though I hadn’t written it. It was a poignant piece about saying goodbye.
For some people this can be such an easy act while for others it can be the most difficult event in their lives. For me it seems that this all depends on what the first major experience of parting has been like. Similarly to the writer I was reading my first big separation came when my mother died. I was walking with her in our neighbourhood when she collapsed and somehow with the strength of a frightened 14 year old I managed to get carry her back home. Within 24 hours she had died and although I had seen her in the hospital bed it was still not real to me because the form in the bed was not the lively woman I had left the house with on that Saturday afternoon.
My sisters and I stood at the top of the stairs in our house and received the news that our mum was not coming back to us, ever. I know that the shock wave that surrounded me that Sunday morning remained in tact in my life for decades afterwards.
Following that moment, each and every departure has been major. There have been no minor incidents of leave-taking in my life.
I don’t have a good record of saying goodbye. I’d rather not do it at all. It hurts. Always.
It hurts especially when I know that it will be a long time or a permanent departure.
I value people and I love people, dearly. That’s what I do. That’s who I am. I don’t ever regret loving people. It makes me happy - and I hope it makes them happy too. There is no other way for me. If I make a friend of someone I intend to remain friends with them without a time limit or any of life's events derailing our relationship.
We may have to part ways at some point but I like to think that somehow the connection will always remain. Somehow.
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