The Bittersweet of the Almost Finished

Saying goodbye is never a good time. I much prefer the See-You-Laters followed by the quick squeeze and the dash off. They’re informal, light-weight, and they have a sense of optimism about them. The goodbyes always seem to me to be the long, heavy moments where the awkwardness is worth mentioning (in a fumbling attempt to make it less, well, there). The lack of clarity around Goodbye protocol could make one cry out for the strict regimented structure of olden-day England, and as a woman, that’s saying something.

People already know me as the emotional one, the one who can’t hold back the tears. I can almost sense the eye rolls even if I can’t seem them for the tears. The state of it. I’m a hot mess with sticky armpits even on a good day, but blow me down if I don’t amplify it all on a sunny afternoon with a tearful goodbye squeezed out from the depths of my belly. It’s like a roll of toothpaste that’s been squeezed to the top with the lid on, and when the poor soul with no idea pops open the cap, there I am with all the emotions tumbling out in a mess of mint flavoured goo, snotting all over your best shirt.

However, even for all its discomfort, I’m learning, albeit at the speed of a snail, how to lean into Goodbye and to wring it out for all it’s worth.

I stood holding my niece in church this past Sunday while an old, familiar worship song floated over me, and I felt the companionship of my sisters and the familiar warmth of being in a place I’ve been in hundreds of times. And it hit me that by moving overseas I am going to miss so much. My sisters will go on having children, and I won’t get to hold their babies, my brothers will marry, my parents will keep advocating for the yearly family vacations, and things will keep moving, without me. So I cried, and I held my niece and I let the moment sit a while.

And now I’m sitting in the College library, after eight months of building relationships, realising that slowly in the background of the study year, a togetherness has been building while we struggle through homework and readings, purposefully striding in the same direction, towards the same goal. And the old me would hold this knowledge, and start to slowly withdraw, in an attempt to keep the inevitable pain of Goodbye at bay. But instead, I’m learning to lean into it, to draw out those friendships in the final weeks of our study.

Goodbyes can actually be good, they mean that precious times have been shared. Goodbyes mean that friendships were made and hearty meals were shared. They mean that fears were laid out and held carefully by trustworthy others, and that laughter was full and often.

So I’ll lean in, with eight weeks to go, and I’ll do my best not to snot on your best shirt when we say goodbye.