A Slow Goodbye
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Probably not my most uplifting post initially, but if you're willing to hang on to the end encouragement is possible.
This notion of slow goodbyes has been swirling in my spirit for nearly two weeks. Unfortunately, this life is full of rather sad and sultry goodbyes. They take us by surprise. And by the time we see them for what they are we don't even know they've caught us in their sticky, tangled web. The frog in the boiling pot image comes to mind here.
My friend, Helen, reminded me today of the small, every day goodbyes:
In this dance we call life we say goodbye every day...goodbye to the morning, goodbye to our children as they head off to school, goodbye to a spouse as we go to work, and ultimately goodbye to the day itself, but the slow goodbye is the toughest because sometimes we don't even know we're in the mist of goodbye.
The parent of a child who is going through, or has gone through, high school understands a slow goodbye.
The spouse of an Alzheimer's patient waves goodbye to the lover they once knew and grew old with only to care for someone they've never met.
Bidding farewell to taxes each month is a bitterly slow farewell.
Having parents, becoming a parent, then coming full circle to care for your aging parents are all seasons in the process of a different type of slow goodbye.
The last time you hold your child in your lap. The last bottle they will ever take. The last diaper you change.
Grieving the loss of someone who is still living.
Troubled marriages that vacillate for years between separation and reconciliation only to end in divorce.
Subtlety, sunny summer days sneak into long fall shadows that ultimately end in unforgiving cold winter months.
Giving your child away to the person they will marry. The leaving. The cleaving.
Trading youthful curves and tight skin for wrinkles and - as my hairdresser calls them - "Silvers".
Not all slow goodbyes are sad. Losing weight. Menopause. Later! Don't let the door hit you on the way out!
If you haven't experienced one or more of these, just wait, you will. The inception of our first slow goodbye begins the moment we draw our first breath.
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I'm going to get personal with a few hard goodbyes I've experienced, but I'd like to preface them by saying all goodbyes bring forth growth in character as Jesus promises to "work all things for good to those He calls His children" (Romans 8:28). God sometimes uses slow goodbyes to rid us of selfishness, control, and pride - areas where we all struggle.
My husband and I lived in the same house for ten months and never spoke -- unless it concerned the children. One day I left him while he was at work. (Not my most proud moment) I'd tried everything to make it work. We separated for a month. I came back for the holidays, mostly for the kids. Two months later I found myself crying eastbound on Interstate 84 once again with $80 in my pocket, two pull-ups, three diapers, and a heart full of hurt and confusion. He filed for divorce. Two years later we were. This process was a difficult goodbye filled with suicide attempts, depression meds, and a healthy portion of counseling. In the end we ended up remarried *grin*, but not every story has our happy ending. No matter, I was broken in my brokenness. Broken of my controlling way in our marriage. Broken of my sharp tongue and quick witted comments. Broken of my pride. Broken of everything that identified my role as a wife in our first marriage. Oftentimes I wake up thanking the Lord for burying the old and resurrecting the new. None of it would have been possible, though, without that very painful, very necessary goodbye.
The day my parents began raising my two nieces was the first day of another slow goodbye. Because my sister was unable to care for those two beauties, she allowed my parents to raise them from the time they were eight month and two years old. Many coffins were shut, nailed, and buried that cold winter morning: my parents vision of retirement and empty nesting, my nieces familial course, my sister's future life and endeavors, and the loss for me of my parents availability to myself and my children. It's been fourteen years of waving goodbye to some hopes and laying down certain dreams. It's also been fourteen years of laughter, family gatherings, forgiveness, compromise, and raising two wonderful, beautiful souls who love Jesus and dare to live their lives to serve Him.
Mom's health has been an additional slow goodbye - for her and those around her. A tiny snow ball began to form with the news of a neck fusion to relieve numbness in her hands and arms. A hip replacement started the ball rolling. There was a brief interruption of repairing a bulging disc before the ball began to pick up speed. Snow began to fly with two ensuing total knee replacements, one after the other. Finally, everything became so large and weighty that it abruptly halted - she was paralyzed. A serious back surgery kept her in recovery for months. She regained some feeling back in her legs in those months, but it was all too much to bear. Large and weighty indeed. The process was a year and a half from start to finish. In 18 months she went from a middle-aged, fully ambulatory woman to bed ridden, wheelchair pushed, and finally realize a walker was as good as it was going to get. Once I understood the ramifications of her health it was hard for me to say goodbye to the mom I used to know. But as hard as it was for those of us that looked on, she died a thousands deaths as she lay her house, her mobility, her pride, her health, and even more hopes and dreams aside with the reality of what it meant to start over -- what a new life would look like.
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We are all on a journey through this earth whispering through a slow goodbye. Since we can't escape that we have to decide what we'll do with it.
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I picture a healthy, lone stalk of wheat in a rich, fertile field. A fragile picture of health. As the days get shorter and nights colder, the field begins to dry and the wheat withers. One early November morning the wheat head releases a single grain to fall on the ground. Life so short, so delicate. The snow blankets the dormant dirt as all seems lost -- hopeless. Suddenly, it happens! The first thaw of spring breaks forth and the snow begins to part like the Red Sea only to reveal that single grain has multiplied. Baby, green sprouts are shooting up where all had seemed so dark, lost, and hopeless.
We are the grain, and the baby, green sprouts our legacy, our heritage...what we leave behind.
What is the chief end of man? To glorify God, and enjoy him forever. God made us in His image so that we can reveal His glory through our transformed lives. We can live in a way that brings change -- not only within us, but in our relationships, our communities, our country, and our world." The Westminster Shorter Catechism
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Who is to say the cancer patient who's survived chemo and a double mastectomy is any closer to saying goodbye than you or I? Ask the single mother who tragically lost her seven-year-old son last summer -- no one is guaranteed tomorrow.
My mom once told me, "The older I get (she's 62 this year) the less I hold on to the things of this world, and the more I look up with anticipation to the world I'm getting ready to step into."
Hope for the believer is Jesus Christ...If this life is full of slow goodbyes, then will the next be catapulted into existence by one fast hello? "To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord" (2 Corinthians 5:8). Followed by an eternity of greetings linked to journeys and adventures we never thought possible? How fantastic the day when we are welcomed to a moment outside time and space where we NEVER have to say goodbye again. If life on earth seems slow inside of time and space, will eternity speed by outside of it?
In Christ there are no goodbyes. In Heaven there are no tears.
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As somber of a post as this seemed to be at the start, I hope you won't linger in that valley of fleshly sorrow and sadness -- That's the valley of dry bones. That's not where we belong, nor where we stay.
Knowing where we will spend our eternity gives us hope on even our worst earthly day. It helps us to live out our slow goodbye well and intentionally. As cold winter days turn to thawing spring warmth and bring forth sun-kissed summers, so we are headed to an eternity of jubilant, heavenly greetings followed by joyful hellos everlasting. As eternity in the presence of Jesus draws closer, a slow goodbye fades, loosing all power -- disappearing in the rear-view mirror.
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"There's a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace." Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
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