Saying Goodbye

20 Sep

I have decided (well if I’m honest I’ve known for quite a while) that I do not like saying “Goodbye” to people I love.  In fact you will find that I maintain relationships with people, if I can, for a lifetime.  By relationship I mean, heart ties.  For example, Candy Edman is a subscriber to this post.  I haven’t seen Candy for several years, but her family and ours have remained tied to each other by way of love, prayer, and interest (and maybe a broken toilet or two–haha, inside joke).  I have family, direct bloodlines, that are with me in this way as well.  We live on opposite ends of the coast, or in different countries, yet they are in my heart as if we lived closer.  Why bring this subject up?  I will tell you…

Last night I received a call that my mother had taken my sister, Leah, to the ER.  Leah was in excruciating abdominal pain which painkillers were unable to mask.  Now my rational mind would tell me the circumstance is related to a flare up of her Crohn’s disease.  However, rational wasn’t working its magic for me last night.  You see my father went into the hospital about 20 years ago in pain and with a distended abdomen.  He never came out.  He was riddled with cancer and had ignored the symptoms long enough that by the time conclusions were made from his in-patient testings, he had passed away.  So last night I kept hoping that it wasn’t cancer.  And while we (me on the phone and her in the hospital in northern California) anxiously awaited a cat scan and blood test results, my mind and heart were heavily facing the fear of saying goodbye.  Of course I measured the weight of those thoughts against faith and prayer, which does help keep one from putting the cart before the horse.  However, I was again faced with my disinterest in goodbyes.  And because of that, I hope you all outlive me!  You see I believe in Heaven and I know that is where I am going.  I have no fear of my own death, nor the death of most of those I love (as far as where they are going).  Oh but having to live with the void of someone so significant is abhorrible.  I know I can do it, I’ve done it many a times.  But I just don’t want to!  Now this is not a letter of suicide by any means-Please Don’t Be Alarmed!!!  This is merely an expression of my inner reality; if I didn’t have this blog I wouldn’t even write it down.

There are other forms of “goodbye” I find difficult to deal with, such as the major transitions of life.  My daughter, Esther, is fast approaching 16 years of age.  I am already witnessing the natural progression of her maturation and therefore disconnect from the mother-father-daughter tie.  She is so looking forward to having her driver’s license.  And her car sits in our driveway with its enticing call to a new freedom.  It’s natural, I know.  I went through it, and I have raised both of my children to think independently.  But I still don’t like it.  She is my baby, though she wore red lipstick to school today.  She is my muse, though she consults me less regarding style.  She is my companion, though her friends are fast replacing me.  She is mine, though she is not.

So you see, my sister can’t go into the hospital for pain without me carrying on internally over deeply felt emotions that I manage to sequester most of the time.  No, I contemplate those I love, like, and miss.  I want Heaven now, though I will wait my turn.  Leah is, as I type, undergoing gallbladder removal surgery.  It wasn’t Crohn’s afterall.  She will be fine, and I am grateful.  Now I have to figure out how to gracefully allow my daughter the freedom to grow…

10 Responses to “Saying Goodbye”

  1. Rivka And Her Wit September 21, 2011 at 4:42 pm #

    I am just now getting use to the fact that I can reply to comments; a feature Carepages did not offer. So thank you Lisa and Nora, you both always manage to say the nicest things. And Lisa, I am thinking of you more than you know!

  2. ocounty1 September 21, 2011 at 7:59 am #

    As usual, your words perfectly expressed what I feel so often Rivka! My mind knows that change is inevitable – and that this is God’s plan, and his plan is perfect. But my heart wants to be that 16 year old again – all anticipation, all joy in each new day, all impatient to grow up, all unaware of the fact that my finding my own strength was my parent’s loss – and now, like in the song, I watch as my own children, “…turn around, turn around, turn around and he’s a young man walking out of the door.” Ah, I hate goodbye’s too, but maybe someday, there will be another little face that I will get to say “Hello!” to, and I pray that it is God’s plan that I get to hold my grandchildren….love, lisa o

  3. Nora September 20, 2011 at 8:47 pm #

    Oh how closely our flight patterns are my friend. I can so understand your head saying its OK to disengage and your heart screaming out its protest to that thought. Thanks for putting it all into words. Thoughts and prayers to Leah. I know its OK to not have a gall bladder since I’m minus one. It’s not missing the gall bladder but missing what you can’t eat anymore (I, like Leah, mourn the crabs!)

  4. Gregory Wilker September 20, 2011 at 6:48 pm #

    “Find Your Beach”

  5. Melanie September 20, 2011 at 6:45 pm #

    So glad Leah is going to be fine. Hope she heals quickly. I never had a sister, but know how close you too are and I am glad you two have each other. That is my wish for my two girls, to be that close. As for Esther, you have raised her well. She is growing up to be an amazing woman and for that you & Brian should feel proud. She may leave the nest eventually, but I feel she will never be far from you.

    Miss & Love you guys!

  6. Stacey September 20, 2011 at 6:27 pm #

    Oh Boy! Prayers to Leah for an easy restful recovery! Poor girl. Prayers to you for a little down time from all these ill people you’re surrounded by. Hoping all of them good health for years to come!!!! Miss you my friend! Xoxo

  7. Gloria September 20, 2011 at 5:51 pm #

    Oh My Rivka,
    Here we are, just that sort of connection. I think of you daily; your family, Cole’s dog, your world. We were ships that passed and were able to throw a bottle to one another. I know what you mean about heaven having lost MY best friend/sister in June of 2008 to ovarian cancer. I WILL meet her again and will rejoice in it, but until then I will miss her every darn day. Our kids do grow and then they bring us those recious memories of ourselves as young adults, newlyweds and parents. Life is a miracle and we get to peel the mysteries away one day at a time until our time comes to finally know it all. Glad to hear your sister is recovering.

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