Learning to say goodbye

By Robin P.

As a child, I said goodbye to my friends and family without any thought at all. Until the summer of 1976.

When I was 13 years old, Nana and Papa took me to California to visit Papa's older brother Abe and his wife, and his younger brother Barney and his wife. After a two-week visit, it was time to say goodbye. The three couples stood solemnly in a circle. I began to notice tears silently streaming down everyone's face as they took turns hugging one another.

I tapped Nana lightly on the shoulder and whispered, "Why is everyone crying?" She leaned over and said, "We're never going to see each other again." I thought she was being dramatic. I told Nana that Massachusetts was only a six-hour plane ride from California. They could come visit us whenever they wanted. She shook her head and gently patted my shoulder. Then she turned with tears in her eyes and continued hugging her in-laws.

A few years later Uncle Abe died. Not long after, his wife Mary died. That's when I understood what Nana meant. Then I felt very sad because I hadn't realized I'd never see them again. I became more aware of goodbyes after that.

Living in Israel from 1985-1987 was a great experience but there were a lot of goodbyes. After the first few tear-filled goodbyes to friends who were returning to their own country, I learned that the best way for me to handle this was to be in denial until the very last minute and then say my goodbye quickly. Dragging it out just made it more painful. This technique has served me well over the years.

This past December, I had the opportunity to begin taking care of a beautiful 9-month-old baby girl named Alex. She moved to Massachusetts with her 2-year-old brother to live with her grandparents while her own parents were in the military.

I took care of her three days a week and we fell in love with Alex on the very first day; she instantly became a part of our family. We were told that we would have her until August, so I talked about this with Lillianna many times so that she would be prepared for the day we had to say goodbye.

I thought we had it under control until we got the news in February that Alex was going home the second week of March. Her mom was not being deployed after all and she was coming to take the kids home.

I guess no matter how much I want to fool myself, I have to realize that I do get attached to the people I love and saying goodbye will just never be easy. I figured I'd do my denial thing and pretend up until the last possible moment. I'd bring Alex to her grandmother at the regular time on her last day, kiss her head and drive away. That sounded like a good and familiar plan to me. Then I wondered about Lillianna.

"What is the best way for you to say goodbye to Alex on her last day?" I asked her one night over dinner. She thought for a moment and said, "Well, I'll need more time with her on that Thursday. You can't just pick me up from Brownies at 5 p.m. and then drop her off. I need time to say goodbye and to play with her."

That was the complete opposite of what I needed for myself, but I agreed, because my 9-year-old's feelings about this were more important than mine. So, on the last day, we spent an extra hour with Alex. While I washed dishes and sobbed into the sink, LIllianna laughed and played with Alex in the living room.

When it was almost time for Alex to be picked up by her grandmother, Lillianna said, "I want to meet her mother. She has to come and pick her up." We knew that Alex's mom had flown in that afternoon, so I asked if she could come get her. Her mom agreed.

We had a wonderful visit with Alex's mom, whom we had never met until that day. She brought me flowers and thanked me for taking such good care of her daughter. I got to show off all of Alex's accomplishments, and Lillianna and I got to see Alex and her mom interact. After an hour, they got ready to leave. Lillianna and I said goodbye to Alex and we gave her all of Lillianna's books that she had loved at our house. She could take a part of us with her. We said we'd make her a scrapbook and send it when it was finished so that she could remember us.

I have to give credit to my very clever daughter. This was a goodbye with closure and it ended with more smiles than tears. I'll have to remember this the next time I have a difficult good-bye to say.

Robin P. lives with her husband and daughter in a suburb south of Boston.

Comments

[Antique Mommy]

Saying goodbye on your own terms is such a luxury. I think there was a lot of wisdom in allowing your daughter to make her goodbyes in her own way.