From the Heart: “Goodbye” Never Gets Any Easier

“Goodbye always makes my throat hurt.” ~Charlie Brown

While our son took one final opportunity to go into the backyard and have a moment of silence with his favorite tree, a small eucalyptus that he had raised from literally a tiny seed and planted himself when he was just twelve years old, my husband Michael and I tried to compose ourselves in the living room.

I took deep, deliberate breaths in order to prevent myself from becoming a blubbering mess and causing embarrassment, my stomach in knots and my chest utterly filled with that combination of melancholy and heartbreak that is almost too much to bear. The two of us looked at each other with that knowingness that this moment was finally here... once again.

This was the last time our little family would see each other for the next six months while our son would be gone on a Marine deployment. And while this would be his second deployment, and we had all gone through this process before (even on other occasions for shorter periods of time), it didn't make our goodbye any easier somehow—no amount of “preparing” ever really can, it seems.

In fact, this time around seemed even more acutely painful for all of us because of how very close we have all grown as a family over the past several of years; our son now a mature twenty one year old, and Michael and I more mature as well.

Because our son is stationed so (relatively) close to home, it's been worth the drive home for him most weekends that he has free to enjoy a couple of home-cooked meals with us and sleep in his own bed as a bit of a break—we've had that “luxury” all along. It's a luxury of time spent together, of enjoying one another's company quite often, which is something that many military families don't get to enjoy.

And yet, all that time together can also make saying “goodbye” that much more painful...

Ever since I was a little girl, goodbyes have been very poignant to me, always quite heavy and filled with melancholy, longing, and a deep soul sadness until I can get my bearings and adjust to things.

So when our son came back in from saying his own private “goodbyes” to his tree, his beloved backyard, even his car that was parked in the back near the garage for safe keeping, we all looked at each other with our pale, slightly nervous looking faces, took deep breaths, and hugged.

We hugged and held back the tears as best as we could, though to not much success, especially on my husband's and my end.

But because our son's dear friend, also a Marine, had come to pick him up and was waiting patiently in the car, it definitely encouraged our son to keep his own emotions in check. However, I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice that this was not easy...

And once we released each other from our embrace, he gave our dog Lola a final pat on her head, took a deep breath and opened the front door, then stepped out onto our porch and said, “I love you guys... see you again in six months...”

And after a beat, Michael and I closed the door, held each other, and utterly sobbed.

I'm pretty sure our son could hear us through the open window as he got into his buddy's car, but we couldn't help it.

A little piece of us was being ripped away, and the gravity of time really hit.

Six months... six months...

So much can happen in six months in this topsy-turvy world, I thought. May we all be alive and well, and come back together stronger than ever, whole and healthy.

Ever since I was a little girl, goodbyes have been very poignant to me, always quite heavy and filled with melancholy, longing, and a deep soul sadness until I can get my bearings and adjust to things.

And I'm doing better now, of course, as it has been a little over a week since our son's departure; but I still see him, his essence, in certain places where we all were together last, having a good time as a family.

I can still smell his cologne as it faintly lingers on the seatbelt of the passenger side where he sat on our way to our last family dinner for a while, one where we threw all caution to the wind and truly enjoyed ourselves.

Call me a sentimental fool, I'll own that title fully.

And while my heart will ache a bit until I get to see him again in late spring, it is also full of pride, full of adoration, full of love, and full of joy.

I love this kid so much, and I'm so grateful that I get to be his mom.

It always seems to be in these more poignant moments that nothing gets taken for granted, and I see and feel everything so deeply and so clearly.

So while “goodbyes” never seem to get any easier, they do, indeed, bring with them a sort of bitter sweetness. They offer an opportunity to not hold back and to say all the important things that need to be said, all the things that the heart needs to say, and to consider what life would be like without someone. They also offer an opportunity to have hope and joy in a reunion. And all of these things are gifts.

While it is, indeed, “goodbye” for now, may good things grow out of it.

May I be a good steward of the next six months and not take a moment for granted, and give myself the task of bettering not only my own life but the lives of my family members, as well as other's lives.

May there be abundant stories to tell at the end of it, abundant wellness and wholeness, and an abundance of fruits to show for all the labor.

And now, may preparation for a homecoming begin.

Taste what's good and pass it on.

Ingrid