Saying Good-Bye

“Looking back, I can still experience the pain I once felt.  But it’s the looking back that tells me how I have grown.” –from Opening Our Hearts/Transforming Our Losses

I’ve heard more than once that we say good-bye the way we live our lives.  I guess that makes sense.  As I think back on some of my more significant good-byes, I see my good-bye themes have changed.  I like to think the change is representative of the way I’ve changed in my approach to life.

Other than the death of pets, saying good-bye to my best friend was my first tough loss.  She left for college and I stayed behind to attend and drop out of a local junior college.  Being left was a hard blow to my self-esteem at the time and even today still makes me sad.  Not only was I going to be without my major support, but I suppose I felt leaveable.  That feeling, or theme stayed with me when, at a time I was most needy due to a failing marriage, my adult friends left in rapid succession.  I added the blows, one by one, to my already low self-worth and kept silent in my pain and shame.  With each disappearing act, it became more believable that I could be leaveable.

I know this is all drenched in the stench of self-pity.  It’s true, and I guess that was definitely my MO as a kid and young adult.  Weak and futile attempts to reach out only served to silence me more and rack up my pile of hurts. 

 

I’m not sure how or when I changed.  Maybe my attitude changed when I started being the leaver instead of the left.  Divorce, breaking up relationships, ending jobs all started with confusion and guilt but finally I found a resounding confidence that I was doing the right thing for everyone.  It takes courage to change, and I think I got it from baby steps and recognizing my own little successes.

The people who leave me now are students who graduate.  I love saying good-bye, getting choked up, feeling sad and happy and privileged to have been a part of their success.  My tears are about my own success as well.  I feel that same way about my son who is leaving for two years to study in Shanghai.  His success is partly my success.  Although I’m going to miss him terribly (he’s my even-ater and my computer guru), I’m so excited for the adventures and learning that he’ll meet with courage and competence.

The hardest good-bye, of course, was in December when my mom died.  It didn’t rock my self-esteem; I don’t feel leaveable.  And I’m trying now to feel the privilege of knowing my mother, of being raised by her, and of still learning from her.  I know she suffered in her life and still was able to love and want the best for her kids.  She valued our happiness more than anyone could.  I hope I can learn to be that kind of mother.

A year ago I made a commitment to write one blog entry a week for a year.  It’s been a privilege to share my reflections and recipes and hear back from friends and family. I say good-bye to this project and this way of connecting to others with a sense of success and a feeling of loss.  I will definitely miss positive comments and your reflections. I’ll have to muster the courage to face alone the silent black holes of publishing houses.  I’ll also miss the grappling with issues each week that helped me see things more clearly.  When I taught fourth and fifth grade, I told the kids my motto: Live by the pen, you’ll always have a friend.  Writing is a friend that helps me reflect, dive deeper and make connections I might not have otherwise seen. 

Now onward to new projects, new commitments and new dishes.  But one last recipe in case you’re itching for something light to take to a pot luck this summer:

Couscous Salad

1 10 oz. box of plain couscous

2 c. chicken or vegetable stock

1 large cucumber quartered and sliced

1 red pepper chopped small

1 can garbanzo beans (optional, as is everything, right?)

1 bunch cilantro, cleaned and chopped

1 lemon or more

½ c. pine nuts

1 tub of feta cheese

Salt, pepper and cumin to taste

Follow the directions on the box to cook couscous in stock.  Let it cool and add all other ingredients, using lemon and spices to your liking.  Keep cool until you have the privilege of serving. 

It has been my great privilege serving these reflections and recipes. 

I hope you’ve taken what you liked and left the rest.

Lindsay