Some things get easier with practice, but saying goodbye just keeps getting harder.
I've been saying goodbye all my life. I'm pretty good at it. And fast, too. Sometimes I'm out the door and gone before anybody knows I'm leaving.
But I've never liked saying goodbye unless I couldn't wait to leave. If you're eager to leave, it's not a goodbye, it's a "good riddance." A real goodbye is one you say to someone you love, a place you want to stay or to a time in your life when you are happy.
I've said my share of those kinds of goodbyes. I suspect you have, too. Why do they keep getting harder?
As a child, after my parents divorced, I hated saying goodbye to my Daddy. He hated it as much as I did. So he came up with a plan to make it easier. Instead of saying "goodbye," he decided we'd say, "See you soon."
Grown-ups like to think they are clever. I didn't want to disappoint him, so I went along with it. It didn't make me miss him less, but it reminded me that we'd be together again. And that helped me feel less sad.
We said those words countless times when I was growing up. At the end of every visit. When I went off to college. When he walked me down the aisle at my wedding. When I saw him in the hospital after he had a stroke. And when he called me the last time, before he took his life.
The day he was buried, I stood by his grave and whispered, "See you soon, Daddy."
It didn't make me miss him less, but it reminded me that we would be together again. And I sorely needed to be reminded.
The hope of reunion is a small dose of comfort, but sometimes it's enough to help you get by.
When my three children were babies, I tried my best to make goodbyes easier for them.
I'd swear to them that I'd be back soon and that nothing -- no power in heaven or earth -- could ever separate them from my love. Then I'd say, with a big goofy grin, "See you soon!"
It never worked. They'd cling to me like drowning cats, sinking their claws into my skin and howling hysterically.
Sometimes I miss those days. But the kids outgrew them and so, I guess, did I. By the time my oldest left home for college, we were taking goodbyes in stride. One long hug (when my boys hug you, you know you've been hugged) and a quick "I love you" and finally, "See you soon!"
I waved, dry eyed and smiling, as he drove away. Then I sat on the curb and bawled like a calf.
That's my version of a refined goodbye.
These days it's especially hard to say goodbye to my grandchildren. They aren't old enough to understand that goodbye doesn't mean forever. Actually, I don't quite understand it myself, but I'm trying. To make our goodbyes a little easier, I ask them three questions:
"How much do I love you?" I say, and they shout, "All!"
Then, "Where is your Nana when you can't see her?"
"In my heart!"
Finally, I ask, "And where are you forever and always?"
Family on 09/21/2016