Hard Good-Byes

I’m big on good-byes.  I really don’t know why, because they’re so hard; but I have always felt that good-byes, literal, in-person partings, matter.  I'm the Mom who stands waving until you're out of sight, even to the point of running from the back door to the front to see you up the highway with a smile on my face and tears in my eyes -- Shakespeare knew what he was talking about -- it really is sweet sorrow.

I’ve experienced comical partings, as when I said good-bye to a summer co-worker and friend, Molly, at the train station.  Molly is young enough to be my daughter.  Even though we had only known each other for a short time, as the train pulled out, I broke down sobbing.  A sympathetic man asked, “Your daughter?”  Still sobbing, all I could manage was a choked “No!”  I’ve always worried about that poor man who must have thought all sorts of horrible thoughts, having no idea that I’m just a big cry baby when it comes to good-byes.

And like all of us, I’ve experienced the heart-breaking good-byes: saying farewell to friends and family as they were dying.  Being there, being able to have the recognition observed between us that this really is a good-bye mattered; hard as it was, I always knew I was where I should be.

But perhaps the hardest good-bye of all wasn’t my own, but one I witnessed.

I didn’t know it would be, but it was the last time I saw my Grandma Mary.  I had taken my son Ben to see her at the nursing home where she was an unwilling resident.

We said our good-byes at the front door where Grandma had walked with us.  I had taken a few steps towards the front door, where the sun was streaming through the glass.  Then I turned back.

Grandma was holding onto Ben, her arms around his waist, clinging to him as if she were clinging to life itself.  Under the protection of his embrace, she was so small.

Ben’s face was full of sadness; Grandma’s, determination: if she just held on to him tight enough, he would carry her out of there and away from her broken body.  All her strength of will, always considerable, was locked in that hug.

And just for a moment, the two of them were melded together – one.

I have often thought that walking away from her was one of the hardest things Ben ever did.

All good-byes are hard, some more so than others.   And some catch us unawares.

But somehow, they all matter.