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Goodbyes . . . I can’t stand them . . . still.
One week ago today, on August 26, 2021, I stood at Dulles International Airport in tears, as I said goodbye to my husband and three of my sons. Due to work obligations, I have to stay in the U.S. for five weeks while they all fly to the other side of the world. My oldest son is in Missouri working. I said goodbye to him a few weeks ago. My second son just went back to England to finish his senior year at his university/soccer academy. My husband and two youngest sons just returned to Spain to start the new school year. Four goodbyes—all in the span of a few hours.
I won’t see my eight-year-old for an entire month. It’s killing me.
I’ve done this a million times. It’s not getting any easier. It’s actually getter harder.
October 18, 2020
“Goodbye” . . . I hate the word.
If there is an art of saying goodbye, I certainly have not mastered it.
“Goodbye” . . . I hate the word.
I hate the act. I hate the obligation. I hate the moment. I hate the feeling. I hate the tears. I hate the consequences. I hate the emptiness. I hate the discomfort. I hate the anxiety.
Growing up in Missouri until the age of 19, I don’t remember having to say tons of goodbyes. Other than whispering this word in my heart to those in my life who had died—not fully understanding what was happening—I had to say goodbye to them in my own way.
“Goodbye.”
On the other hand, my overseas life since the age of 19 has been filled with goodbyes—more than I can count, more than I can remember.
“Goodbye.”
Goodbye is a common word in the expat community. People living abroad come and go in our lives like the wind. They blow in. They blow out. We never know when they’re coming and when they’re going. Sometimes it’s gentle. Sometimes it’s violent. Sometimes, we know it’s coming. Sometimes, we are knocked flat on our faces in shock.
Sometimes there’s opportunity for goodbyes. Sometimes there’s not.
We had to be evacuated overnight from North Africa. There was no time for healthy closure and goodbyes to people and places that we loved. I can remember driving out of town, waving and saying “goodbye” to our house, the kids’ school, our favorite local hanoute (corner grocery stand), and friends behind closed doors. That was as far as our goodbyes could go.
This lack of goodbyes and closure for ourselves and our kids left some big holes in our hearts. Thankfully, we were eventually able to return to the country we left, have proper closure, and say meaningful goodbyes to friends and places we loved.
Now, as a result of this traumatic experience—having to leave people and a land that we love, without having the opportunity to say goodbye—I never miss a goodbye. As painful as it is, as much as I hate the act of saying goodbye, as much as I hate the word itself, I always make an intentional effort to say goodbye to individuals in a personal way.
Everyone needs closure. I need it. They need it.
Some people avoid it at all costs. It’s hard. I understand.
I honestly dread goodbyes. Last night, I couldn’t sleep. We were scheduled to drive our son, Robert, to the airport at 4 a.m. for his 6 a.m. flight. The only reason we tortured ourselves like that was because the flight was cheap! Early morning flights are the worst! You can’t sleep, because you are afraid that you won’t hear your 3 a.m. alarm. You also wonder if you will feel worse if you sleep a few hours than if you just pull an all-nighter!
I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I kept watching the clock . . . well, kept watching my phone. Who owns an alarm clock these days anyways?
I was also feeling sick to my stomach . . . with dread . . . sick to my stomach with the thought of saying goodbye to my son AGAIN.
As I tossed and turned in bed, I had one thought. “Let’s just get this over with!” I just want to get to the other side. That’s what I want. That’s what my son wants. We want to get through the painful goodbyes and be done with it!
We want to get to the destination, and I don’t mean the geographical destination.
See Beyond’s article, “Saying Goodbye Well,” refers to David Polluck of Interactive International and author of Third Culture Kids—Growing Up Between Worlds. Polluck uses an acronym, RAFT, as a model for healthy goodbyes—Reconciliation, Affirmation, Farewell, and Think destination. RAFT reminds us of four strong and sturdy logs built to get us safely from one destination to the next.
1. Reconciliation—making sure that there are no broken places in our relationship.
Thankfully, this wasn’t an issue between my son and I. However, there had been some moments of conflict and tension in the recent days among our four boys. When we sat down for dinner the night before Robert’s departure, I addressed this and talked about the importance of getting along and “dwelling together in unity.” That’s one of my favorite Bible verses and one that my four boys have heard me say out loud (and scream!) a few too many times. “How good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity.” It was one of our family’s adopted mottos. After addressing that and the gift it is to be together, the atmosphere changed. There was reconciliation.
2. Affirmation—telling the person leaving or those staying what you appreciate most about them.
One day this week, my husband and I took Robert out for lunch—just the three of us. We talked about how he felt about going back to school in England. We shared how much we were going to miss him and affirmed him. During our family’s last meal together, I asked everyone to share one thing, “What are you going to miss most about Robert being gone?” This was a way for our family to affirm him and fill him up.
3. Farewell—the actual act of saying goodbye.
We marked this well. Last night, our family had a “going away” party for Robert with a nice bottle of champagne and his favorite steak dinner. Our two youngest boys made a chocolate chip cookie cake to celebrate. Our 7-year-old even helped me make a special gift for Robert as a token of love and appreciation. Our family “marked” the farewell, the transition, the goodbye, the departure. I laughed and said, “We’re celebrating that you’re leaving!” Robert knew I was joking, and he also knew that his departure was HUGE for our family. We were all affected by it, so we had to “mark” the transition for healthy closure for us all.
4. Think destination—thinking about the future. Looking ahead to what is on the other side of the goodbye is key for both parties.
Robert couldn’t wait to leave us after seven long months of COVID life in Spain. It was time for him to get back to his fun and independent college life with his friends. It was time to return to some normalcy with classes and soccer training.
It was helpful for Robert to talk to us about what he was looking forward to on the other side. Likewise, it was good for us to be reminded of what he was moving towards. It was healthy for us to remember what a blessing it was that Robert had the opportunity to go to college and to be in a soccer academy. Thinking about tomorrow helped us get through today.
“Expressing these future hopes and expectations by both parties, gives a sense of hope for yourself and for the other person. While our roles in the other’s life are changing, we can glimpse into each others’ futures and be encouraged, seeing the continuation of the journey.”
See Beyond
Our family built our RAFT, and at 4 a.m., it was time to go. Robert put his two giant suitcases in the hallway, put his jacket and backpack on, took one last look at his bedroom, closed the door, hugged our dog, Bernie, goodbye, and walked out the door to the car.
We drove the thirty minutes to the airport, chitchatted to keep ourselves awake in the early morning hours, prayed a blessing on Robert in the car, and then pulled up to the airport curb.
I hoped that the police might not notice that I didn’t have a boarding pass and let me sneak through the sliding glass doors with Robert, but . . . nope.
We had to say goodbye.
I stood on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around my 6’4 giant son. I held on tightly, not wanting to let go. I finally did, so that his father could hug him too.
He grabbed his luggage and said, “I’ll text you later.”
“I miss you already,” I said quietly, afraid that the police officer might hear my shaky voice.
We watched our son walk away . . . to the other side of the world. My husband and I walked back to our car parked on the curb.
It was going to be okay. We had built our solid and sturdy goodbye RAFT. It was time. It was over. We had finally made it to the other side.
“Goodbye” . . . I STILL hate the word.
—THE CULTURAL STORY-WEAVER
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How do you handle goodbyes? What helps you get across the bridge safely and peacefully?
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