I’ve talked about this journey to face something difficult for the last several posts. I’ve spoken in fairly vague terms about what it means to say goodbye. To dig deep and find the place where that goodbye resonates.
I spoke about my grandmother a week or so ago. I said goodbye to her two weeks ago., and then again. She wasn’t gone from this earth when I first bid adieu, but for many different reasons, I had to say goodbye. Prematurely. Right on time. Later than it could have been done.
It felt too early because I wasn’t ready and her body, at the time, was still physically here. I could still touch her hand and hug her and run my fingers through her silvery curls. I could still look at her beautiful face, with her upturned nose and profound cheekbones. Also, I wasn’t ready. I was really, really not ready. To say goodbye. To have her leave me. To know that she won’t yelp at me for not tucking in a shirt or calling a relative that I hadn’t spoken to in some time. I’m not ready to know that she won’t know all the things I do from this day forth. Condemn my terrible decisions but support me. Celebrate my wise decisions and my successes. Tell me I can do better and I’ve done the best I can.
It was right on time because I was able to hold her hand. And touch her hair. And hug her. I was able to lean down and whisper in her little ear how much I adore her. How she changed my life in so many ways. How I miss her now and I’ll miss her when and I’ll miss her always. It was right on time because I was able to tell her everything I needed to. Uninterrupted. I was able to cry for her in a way she never would have permitted. No pouting, no temper tantrums, no harping. Moving on, moving through, forgiving all, forgiving any. I was able to be heart broken in a way that she would have wanted to soothe. Treat with challah French toast and orange tea and classical music on cd, from the library.
It is later than it could have been done because I couldn’t bear to say these things when we could look each other in the eyes and converse. I could tell her I loved her more than words but I couldn’t tell her how I would miss her. I couldn’t cause her more anxiety or be so meshuggah that it would lead to her exasperation. It is later because that’s not the natural order of things. We don’t tell someone living how we will miss them one day. We don’t tell them how we cannot imagine life without them. When I have, and I have, I’m told it’s silly or too much or that’s not something that requires contemplation. But it may be that it’s not and it does.
I guess I don’t know. I’m not sure. There is no right answer. There is no right time. There is just what happens and how we deal with it. There is just every challenge and obstacle that life throws at us. Why her? Why me? Why now? Why ever?
We tend to make goodbyes into something easier to swallow, to manage. We say that it is not goodbye forever, but goodbye for now. We insinuate that there will be another time in the universe’s plan where we will be reunited. We will find each other. We will find a way. That may be true, but that’s not how this needs to get done. Not for me. Not based on everything I shared with you this week.
Goodbyes cannot be sugar coated. We cannot dress them up in something pretty so they feel better, so we feel better. They are messy and sloppy and they feel fucking awful; particularly the forever ones. Don’t get me wrong, the real ‘goodbye for now’ feels pretty bad too. That kind of separation tends to leave us unmoored. We might not have felt tethered to the earth because of that one human (though maybe we did) but suddenly we feel like we are floating in space. That goodbye, that letting go, tends to loosen the threads of connection we have all over the place. Suddenly we don’t feel tightly strung or we feel too tightly strung. Vulnerable. Delicate. Unhinged.
I grounded myself by doing exactly what I suggested you do early in the week. I practice what I preach here. I don’t always do it perfectly, but I give it my best damn shot. I acknowledged my pain, I reached down deeper to find its bottom, and I decided that no matter how bad it felt, I would get to the other side of that feeling. I saw the glory in my goodbye. I knew that the first goodbye would help with the next goodbye I would face with this relationship. I knew that this letting go would help with every other release I would have going forward. I understood that I would let go and suddenly I would see other troubles, other problems, and other relationships differently.
I had been struggling with some other issues. Other relationships. Suddenly, I gave less of a fuck. I wasn’t apathetic. Not by a long shot. I just acknowledged the specialness of the relationship I was letting go of. I recognized that some relationships are worth it, the pain, the struggle, the joy, and some, are not. I am not suggesting that suddenly I was cutting cords like it was going out of style. I’m explaining that I was able to put my pain in the exact place it needed to be and I was able to feel things more appropriately around me.
The thing about Harriet is that she wasn’t perfect (none of us are), but she loved me perfectly. She loved me despite our differences. She loved me despite my resistance and my walls. She loved me in a whole heart kind of way that deserves reverence and respect. She loved me so fiercely that I was still able to feel that love buried beneath layers of disconnection. I have the capacity to love like that. I’ve given it away too freely over the years. To men. To women. To people.
Respecting the majesty of that connection means not wasting that grandeur on those who are decidedly unworthy. We are, if you remember, on the path to worthy. That journey is best taken with those who walk with us. At our backs. Not against us. Ever.
Just keep that tucked away for when you need it, okay?
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 