I never have liked good-byes. I’d much rather jump from that last laugh to the greeting hug. I’d love to just fast forward over the sad, fare-thee-well parts.
But what about those times when I won’t see somebody again?
What if this is the last good-bye?
I don’t think I’d want to miss that good-bye. I’m sure I’d regret it. “I didn’t tell her I loved her. I didn’t tell him I’d miss him. I didn’t tell her how much she meant to me. I didn’t even say, ‘Good-bye.’”
There’s something almost unreal about that last good-bye. I look into someone’s eyes and hope she knows everything that I can’t find the words to say. I whisper good-bye and my tears say so much more.
But what about those times when I won’t see somebody again?
What if this is the last good-bye?
I don’t think I’d want to miss that good-bye. I’m sure I’d regret it. “I didn’t tell her I loved her. I didn’t tell him I’d miss him. I didn’t tell her how much she meant to me. I didn’t even say, ‘Good-bye.’”
There’s something almost unreal about that last good-bye. I look into someone’s eyes and hope she knows everything that I can’t find the words to say. I whisper good-bye and my tears say so much more.
Yes, this good-bye hurts the most. And I’ve had my share of them, even if they were only with animals. When you’re raised as a secluded home-school student, your animals are your best friends. You love them more than anything. And saying good-bye is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.
Sometimes saying good-bye feels like your heart is being torn out of you. My first 4-H lamb, Champ, was my puppy dog of a lamb. He followed me everywhere, did everything I asked. We won the showmanship contest together, and I couldn’t have been more proud of him. On Saturday I walked him into the sale ring and cheerfully showed him off to the bidders. I don’t think the realization that I was losing him had hit home yet. But as I walked back into the barn, some men who were helping sort the sale animals literally took him out of my hands and put him in a pen with other sheep. For a moment I was shocked, and then I burst into tears. I had lost him. The empty halter was given back to me and Champ called from the pen while I cried in my mom’s arms. I went to Champ and he quieted down in my hands. Still crying, I kissed him and told him good-bye. Then I left and later he was loaded onto the trailer for auction. I never can forget that lamb. I find it almost ridiculous how close I came to crying while writing this short paragraph.
Last good-byes won’t be forgotten.
You don’t always see the last good-bye coming. One year, my grandparents took my sister and me on a trip to Yellowstone. I don’t remember how or if we said good-bye to the critters. Maybe we gave them an extra pet or kiss, or maybe we shouted “good-bye” as we ran from the barn. Maybe we treated that morning just like any other. When we returned home a few days later, Mom met us with tears. Squeak, one of the goat kids, had died while we were gone. Leah and I both burst into tears and the beautiful day was ruined. That night I tossed and turned and cried and wished with all my heart that when I woke up in the morning, sweet little Squeak would still be in the barn to greet me.
Last good-byes aren’t an always an option.
Other times, the last good-bye occurs when your hope is dying along with something you love, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. All you can do is cry. Peppermint was Leah’s goat, and one of the original does that we bought. A few weeks after kidding season, she became extremely ill. We took her to the vet, who sent us home with IV’s and other medicines for her. We followed that treatment for some time, and then brought her back to the vet for a check-up. She seemed to be doing better that day and actually nibbled on some food. We returned home with joyful spirits and eager hearts. When we opened the trailer door to unload her, she was going into convulsions. Mom sent Leah to the house while she and I decided what to do. Every time we moved Peppy, she convulsed worse. We knew we had to put her down. Sobbing, we did so. She was gone. Just like that. There was no holding on, no second chance, no other options.
Last good-byes are irreversible.
I don’t think anybody truly desires a last good bye, but sometimes you have to make that decision yourself. Sometimes you are the one who decides to let go. Poptart, Peppermint’s sister, was my beloved goat. About four months after Peppermint’s death, Poptart became sick. The only thing we could figure out was that the feed we had given her was bad. We treated her as best we could, but she only went downhill. On September 1, I told Mom and Papa that it was time for her to go. They asked me if I was sure, and suggested I wait until that afternoon to make my final decision. I agreed. When I chored that afternoon, I knelt next to Poptart and stroked her. She was lying down, staring at the wall and grinding her teeth. It was like she didn’t even see me or know I was there. White rimmed her eyes, and that terrified me, because Peppy’s eyes had shown that same white when she was dying. I couldn’t bear to see my precious Poppers suffer like that. I knew we had to put her down. In a way, that was both the easiest and hardest decision I have ever made. It was the easiest because I knew I had no option. I was compelled to put her down in order to keep her from suffering. But it was also the hardest decision because I was making the decision to end a life - - a life that I loved so very much. Although God used that experience for good, the pain still lingers. Letting go is never an easy thing to do, especially when it is for ever.
Last good-byes hurt.
Eventually the pain wears off. We think we’ve overcome the agony of loss and that it is only a thing of the past. But then we see a picture of the loved one, or we tell a story about them. All of a sudden, the pain comes back. It might not be so powerful, and we might not break down in tears, but we remember. And we hurt all over again. We realize how much we’ve lost, and how much of our heart died when we said good-bye. Alexander Pope said, “How often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.” Maybe that is one reason why good-byes pain us so much. Each time we say “good-bye”, a part of ourselves is being torn away as well.
And sometimes, that piece is gone forever.
Life is a series of hello’s and good-bye’s. Each morning dawns with new opportunities, discoveries, joys, and sorrows. And each night brings the last good-bye to yet another day of our lives. We can’t escape the cycle. Birth and life abound, but so do death and sorrow. We cannot have one without the other, at least not in this world.
Many more good-byes await me, I know. And some of those will be “the last good-bye.” I will still cry, I will still ache, and I will still wish there were some easier way. But there isn’t, and because of that, I will face these moments with a determined, if a resigned, spirit. I do not have to be joyful about death, but I cannot ignore it either. Each good-bye will come in its own perfect timing. Hurt as it may, I won’t miss one. I will remember the death, and I will remember the life. I will love and still let go. I will set them free and still hold them close. I will remember, and I promise I won’t forget.
Sometimes saying good-bye feels like your heart is being torn out of you. My first 4-H lamb, Champ, was my puppy dog of a lamb. He followed me everywhere, did everything I asked. We won the showmanship contest together, and I couldn’t have been more proud of him. On Saturday I walked him into the sale ring and cheerfully showed him off to the bidders. I don’t think the realization that I was losing him had hit home yet. But as I walked back into the barn, some men who were helping sort the sale animals literally took him out of my hands and put him in a pen with other sheep. For a moment I was shocked, and then I burst into tears. I had lost him. The empty halter was given back to me and Champ called from the pen while I cried in my mom’s arms. I went to Champ and he quieted down in my hands. Still crying, I kissed him and told him good-bye. Then I left and later he was loaded onto the trailer for auction. I never can forget that lamb. I find it almost ridiculous how close I came to crying while writing this short paragraph.
Last good-byes won’t be forgotten.
You don’t always see the last good-bye coming. One year, my grandparents took my sister and me on a trip to Yellowstone. I don’t remember how or if we said good-bye to the critters. Maybe we gave them an extra pet or kiss, or maybe we shouted “good-bye” as we ran from the barn. Maybe we treated that morning just like any other. When we returned home a few days later, Mom met us with tears. Squeak, one of the goat kids, had died while we were gone. Leah and I both burst into tears and the beautiful day was ruined. That night I tossed and turned and cried and wished with all my heart that when I woke up in the morning, sweet little Squeak would still be in the barn to greet me.
Last good-byes aren’t an always an option.
Other times, the last good-bye occurs when your hope is dying along with something you love, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. All you can do is cry. Peppermint was Leah’s goat, and one of the original does that we bought. A few weeks after kidding season, she became extremely ill. We took her to the vet, who sent us home with IV’s and other medicines for her. We followed that treatment for some time, and then brought her back to the vet for a check-up. She seemed to be doing better that day and actually nibbled on some food. We returned home with joyful spirits and eager hearts. When we opened the trailer door to unload her, she was going into convulsions. Mom sent Leah to the house while she and I decided what to do. Every time we moved Peppy, she convulsed worse. We knew we had to put her down. Sobbing, we did so. She was gone. Just like that. There was no holding on, no second chance, no other options.
Last good-byes are irreversible.
I don’t think anybody truly desires a last good bye, but sometimes you have to make that decision yourself. Sometimes you are the one who decides to let go. Poptart, Peppermint’s sister, was my beloved goat. About four months after Peppermint’s death, Poptart became sick. The only thing we could figure out was that the feed we had given her was bad. We treated her as best we could, but she only went downhill. On September 1, I told Mom and Papa that it was time for her to go. They asked me if I was sure, and suggested I wait until that afternoon to make my final decision. I agreed. When I chored that afternoon, I knelt next to Poptart and stroked her. She was lying down, staring at the wall and grinding her teeth. It was like she didn’t even see me or know I was there. White rimmed her eyes, and that terrified me, because Peppy’s eyes had shown that same white when she was dying. I couldn’t bear to see my precious Poppers suffer like that. I knew we had to put her down. In a way, that was both the easiest and hardest decision I have ever made. It was the easiest because I knew I had no option. I was compelled to put her down in order to keep her from suffering. But it was also the hardest decision because I was making the decision to end a life - - a life that I loved so very much. Although God used that experience for good, the pain still lingers. Letting go is never an easy thing to do, especially when it is for ever.
Last good-byes hurt.
Eventually the pain wears off. We think we’ve overcome the agony of loss and that it is only a thing of the past. But then we see a picture of the loved one, or we tell a story about them. All of a sudden, the pain comes back. It might not be so powerful, and we might not break down in tears, but we remember. And we hurt all over again. We realize how much we’ve lost, and how much of our heart died when we said good-bye. Alexander Pope said, “How often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.” Maybe that is one reason why good-byes pain us so much. Each time we say “good-bye”, a part of ourselves is being torn away as well.
And sometimes, that piece is gone forever.
Life is a series of hello’s and good-bye’s. Each morning dawns with new opportunities, discoveries, joys, and sorrows. And each night brings the last good-bye to yet another day of our lives. We can’t escape the cycle. Birth and life abound, but so do death and sorrow. We cannot have one without the other, at least not in this world.
Many more good-byes await me, I know. And some of those will be “the last good-bye.” I will still cry, I will still ache, and I will still wish there were some easier way. But there isn’t, and because of that, I will face these moments with a determined, if a resigned, spirit. I do not have to be joyful about death, but I cannot ignore it either. Each good-bye will come in its own perfect timing. Hurt as it may, I won’t miss one. I will remember the death, and I will remember the life. I will love and still let go. I will set them free and still hold them close. I will remember, and I promise I won’t forget.
