The Permanent Lump in the Back of my Throat

“These people are good. This whenua is good. These goodbyes are…good.”

This week I had the awkward experience of crying into my facemask, which, as everyone with glasses will attest to, became a full-face affair. I was settled comfortably in an aeroplane that was taking me on my homeward journey back towards the North Island, but the tears were completely unexpected. I was about to be reunited with my husband and daughter after a 5-day goodbye trip to the South Island, which had been absolutely lovely!

Earlier, while checking in online, I had managed to grab a window seat and was now peering out the window in a last-minute attempt to do something meaningful before turning my undivided attention to my Kindle. But as the angle of the plane started to diverge from the angle of the ground I unexpectedly began to feel emotional about leaving the South Island.

I don’t know about you but I’m a ‘delegate my emotions’ typa gal. I have this ability to prioritize what needs to be done in moments of transition, and I don’t allow myself to feel things that may complicate or slow the process. In fact, I’ve done such a good job of it that it has become an unconscious trait that is activated when a period of transition kicks in. So on the morning of departure when I woke up, that familiar feeling of efficiency came over me and I started the process of dressing, packing, and tidying, followed by a quick drive to the airport after which I settled into a comfy spot and waited for my flight. All fairly painless. But at this moment, as the plane started to speed up, the decision to lift my eyes from my reading resulted in the feelings of goodbye and departure starting to bubble up inside.

And the tears began to flow.

For me, tears are a sign that there is something going on inside that I’m not paying attention to. Something that hasn’t been listened to and so it breaks out in a cry for my attention so that I can remedy the situation. On this particular morning, tears were telling me that I had goodbye emotions that I’m not addressing. And they’re not gonna be a good time if I keep them bottled up inside.

Upon reflection, I have become aware of the permanent lump in the back of my throat.

The one that I swallow when a goodbye is coming up but I don’t want to turn it into a saga. It’s the lump I’m swallowing when my sister’s eyes start to glisten when we’re talking about farewell parties and overseas visits. It’s the same lump that suddenly appears again as I type this out in my favorite Starbucks hoping no one happens to glance my way and spot the wet streak down my cheek. It’s blimmin annoying. But it’s too important to ignore.

You see, these types of goodbyes are a privilege. These goodbyes are something you get to do when things have gone well. Your person hasn’t suddenly died and been snatched away without the chance to tell them how you feel. This land has fed you and housed you and kept you safe. Your people are all gathered together to wish you all the best and godspeed on your journey. These goodbyes are something you can do because you’re both still here, in this place, at this time. Loving each other. These people are good. This whenua is good. These goodbyes are…good.

So we should honor this emotion. We should give it due course. We should do it well and do it fearlessly. Because for some of these wonderful people who fill my life, this may be the last goodbye we share. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back in my country with my people. And I’m getting the chance to make this goodbye a good one, a meaningful one complete with tears and wobbly chins (purposefully plural in my case).

So, a reminder to self, and maybe to you if you’re in a goodbye season: Drink plenty of water, let the tears flow, finish with a long hug. Tell them how you feel if you can get the words out, write a letter if words fail. But don’t let the goodbyes pass by without acknowledgment, because otherwise you’ll find yourself fogging up your glasses on the flight out, thinking about how handkerchiefs are really gross until moments like this when the back of your hand is covered in snot, and you’re looking for a shoulder to cry on that does not belong to the impeccably dressed businessman sitting in the next seat.