GOODBYES FULLY REALIZED

There have been losses in my life recently that have set me to reflecting on lessons learned from losses that I have ridden out previously. The following is a meditation on saying goodbye to a dear friend not so very long ago:

In addition to the gaping hole that the passing of loved ones leaves behind, there is also an opportunity to redefine our world. What once seemed true is no longer. What once seemed secure has fallen away. While we accept intellectually that we may never see a loved one again each time we part company, the emotional and spiritual finality of this possibility never reaches our marrow until after the fact; until after we realize that the last goodbye really was the final goodbye. And when “last” becomes “final,” we are left to examine the impact of lives that have come to us, touched us and gone, unexpectedly spinning into our sphere and then, just as unexpectedly, spinning back out. We are left to sort simultaneously through our disbelief at the suddenness of their passing, our regret over words unspoken, and our sheer joy that we knew them at all.

At first, my friend Kim was to me no more than a soft voice on the telephone, calling in as a home-based transcriptionist to the on-site office where I worked in a metropolitan hospital. Our conversation revolved around the usual work-related business. In the performance of her requests, I came over time to hear something beyond business in her voice. As she waited for me to work the technical magic required from within the office, she would often offer comment about a hummingbird lingering just outside of her window, or how beautifully the sun dappled the trees at just that moment in the morning. She would reference her dog, who lay asleep at her feet, or one of her cats as they stretched lazily across the warm surface of her desk in the afternoon sun. As a transcriptionist, Kim spent the majority of her day indoors, her hands repetitively contacting the hard plastic of a computer keyboard and her mind engaged with the serious business of creating an accurate medical record. At the same time, I came to know her as a gentle spirit who, despite her dedication to her mental occupation, still managed to keep her heart beating in time with the rhythm of life that pulsed and danced so seductively just outside her window.

As the weeks went by, Kim and I discovered that we shared a reverence of nature, of the winged and four-legged creatures of the earth, of the earth itself, and of our awareness of our place within that fragile web of life. We both agreed that ours were hands not meant for keyboards, but for thrusting deep into warm soil rich with loam; that ours were feet not meant for hasty travel across concrete in hard-soled shoes, but for deliberate grounding in the sensual and textural landscape of the Earth Mother’s natural mantel.

Through that connection, Kim was the first at the hospital to extend a hand in friendship to me, and she suggested that we get together to walk our dogs. I readily accepted and, so it was that I made my way on a Saturday afternoon to the home that Kim shared with her husband. As I drew near to the address she had provided me, she came into view at the end of her driveway; her face lit up as I pulled in. As I parked, she rounded the front of my van and, as soon as I had stepped foot out of it, I was enfolded in a warm and welcoming embrace, one that is usually reserved for people who have shared a much longer acquaintance. I quickly learned that this was just Kim’s form of shorthand, for when we each then stepped back and regarded one another, I knew that we already were old friends. A consummate and gracious hostess, she invited me back to her garden oasis, where we enjoyed fresh-squeezed lemonade and cookies warm from the oven. There, we set about the business of learning about one another outside the confines of our shared profession. The ripple of her husband's piano practice lifted out of the open kitchen window on the afternoon breeze and made its way into the garden. I recall it as a defining moment that reflected the peace and serenity that Kim was magically able to conjure all about her. Her gregarious mutt, Charlotte, and my then rather high-strung Dalmatian, Flynn, came to be fast friends as well, as they dodged and parried about the cool green of the shaded lawn. Over the ensuing months, we would take them both on long, conversation-infused walks through various nature trails in and around the greater Portland area.

One of those outings allowed me the honor of introducing Kim to Sauvie Island – the beautiful wetland nature reserve and u-pick farming community just outside of Portland along the convergence of the Multnomah Channel with the Columbia river. We first took Flynn and Charlotte out there on a brisk fall day and, as typically thoughtful as Kim was, she had packed a thermos of hot cider and slices of homemade pumpkin bread for us to enjoy along the way. We walked the length of the beach and back, as the sun-kissed tops of the fall foliage pierced the backdrop of a gunmetal sky. The wind brought color to our cheeks as we plodded through the sand, with Flynn and Charlotte gamboling in and out of the frigid water. There would be many walks, but the day we spent on Sauvie was one of the best we ever had, and I will forever hold it close in my heart. Over the ensuing months, Kim and I hadn’t gotten together as frequently as we had before. As is so often the case, daily responsibilities of life intervened and time sped by. Her unexpected death took with it any hope for a meaningful goodbye.

I decided to make the drive to North Bend to attend her funeral service not for Kim; I didn’t go for myself, because I have lost enough of my family and friends over the years to know that sustaining and lasting peace does not come primarily from the momentary gathering of remaining family and friends at a funeral; rather, it comes from the gathering of inner strength, faith and fond memories, and from the personal order in which one sorts them to be able to go on. I wanted to attend Kim’s funeral in honor of her family. I felt that it was important that they know how deeply she had touched the lives of all of us who were fortunate enough to know her. I felt that it was important that I represent all of us in the department, many of whom would have gladly made the trip with me, and who were certainly there in spirit, but could not be granted the day off from work; for, if everyone who knew and loved Kim and wanted to attend her service were actually able to, there would have been precious few people remaining to staff the entire transcription department of a major metropolitan health system. Kim was that well-thought of. She was that loved.

I entered the North Bend Chapel into a sea of faces unfamiliar to me. I was soon approached by a small, frail woman, her halting steps supported with the use of a cane held in her right hand, and by a companion who gently guided the elbow of her left arm. “Are you waiting for someone, Dear?” she asked. When I replied that I was unsure of whether to seat myself or to wait for an usher, she introduced herself to me as Kim’s mother. I took her hand and introduced myself as Willow. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “You’re Willow? You drove all that way from Portland?”

If I had questioned for a moment the wisdom or the clarity of taking the day off and making the long drive to North Bend to attend Kim’s service, the look of gratitude and appreciation on Kim's mother's face when she recognized my name and acknowledged that effort erased any trace of doubt I may have entertained. I told her that it had been my honor to do so, and that my presence there was only representative of all of the love and heartfelt wishes of sympathy sent by all of us in this time of their deep sorrow. It was also in that moment that the source of Kim’s own gracious nature was made clear; for, even from the depths of her own bottomless despair, her mother’s courage had forged a place for her to be concerned for my comfort and welfare at her daughter’s funeral. I will forever be grateful that I could share with her my gratitude for her raising such a kind and gentle person and such a nurturing and thoughtful friend.

I felt intuitively after the service that this was a time for intimate family and friends, and that my role there had been fulfilled. I had a long drive ahead of me back to Portland, as well as personal and professional commitments demanding my departure. As I drove down the hill away from the chapel, I turned on the local radio station in time to hear the morning weather report. “Mostly cloudy on the coast this morning,” the announcer intoned, “and only partial clearing this afternoon.” The Universe had other plans. I smiled as I looked out at the morning sun beaming down across the depths of Coos Bay, it’s sparkling water reflecting the blue of the cloudless sky above it. As the sun penetrated the windshield of my rental car and fell across my arms while I waited at the stoplight, I could swear I felt the warmth of Kim’s embrace in an everlasting hug goodbye.