The Long Goodbye

When you love someone, goodbyes are really hard.

When our children were small, the thing they hated most of all, was when their Dada left the house- whether it was to go to work or anywhere it else. It didn’t matter to them where he was going or why. If he was going somewhere without them- to them, that was just terrible. Their sobbing would last for a long time after he left. Similarly, when he got home, they had to be reunited with him at the very instant he entered the house and couldn’t bear to part ways even for him to shower. So we came up with a code word called ‘quick exit.’ He would get ready to leave for work, I would keep the children engaged with something, and signal to him- quick exit- and he would leave the house quietly and as unnoticeably as possible. That way the children wouldn’t be bawling their heads off everyday.

 

As they grew up, they learned that yes, Dada does leave the house and it is painful to say goodbye, but he will come back and it is important to let him bathe and eat and give him some space to breathe and then we can be happily reconnected with long stories and longer hugs.

 

Well, we are all still growing up and these days, we are learning to say the long goodbye. My husband and I have had plenty of practice saying the long goodbye with 5 of our elders, the last 2 of whom passed away while our first baby was too young to remember them. But now, as my 91 year old grandmother declines in abilities and participation in life due to progressive dementia, we are all learning how to say the long goodbye together.

 

So, what exactly is the long goodbye? Have you ever wanted NOT to leave a person or situation so much that you keep dragging your feet and saying thank you and goodbye a hundred times over but do not actually move towards the exit? There’s always one more story to tell, one more picture to click, one more hug to cherish, one more joke to laugh over. And then someone says: ok, now we REALLY have to go or else we’ll be late for work tomorrow.

 

Caring for someone who has dementia is a thousand times longer than that, only no one really knows when the final exit will happen. Everyday, we grieve a little more the loss of the person we once knew. I don’t remember the day that was the last time I hugged my precious grandma while she could stand on her own. I don’t remember the last time we could have an intimate conversation where I didn’t have to bridge the gaps between her experience of reality and objective reality. I don’t remember the last time I knew that something was happening to us for the last time. The days are slow, the nights are long, the grief is real, although so very small and dragged over so very long.

 

Everyday, we lose a little more of her as she loses a little more of herself too. I’ve heard it described like this- you wake up in the morning knowing that a thief has broken into your home and stolen something, only you don’t know and can’t figure out what it is. And this happens the next morning too. And the next. And the next. The thief comes to steal, kill and destroy. But thanks be to God, Jesus came to give us life and life in all abundance.

So, yes although I do not know what happened today that would be the last time it happened to / with my grandma, I can rejoice in the fact that all that happened today, was because of God’s grace flowing freely from His Son who gives us abundant life.

 

And even though she cannot understand nor control even a single aspect of her own life right now, my grandmother has an abundant life in Jesus. Even though she is completely forgotten and cast aside by this busy world that can only schedule someone in if they have something to gain from it, she is well loved and well cared for everyday, by people who are willing to stick around no matter how long this goodbye lasts. Even though she has nothing new to do today because her decreasing abilities make fewer things practically possible, she has an immense hope in what she is going to do for all eternity with Jesus.

 

Like that sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall and the bells in the steeple too, that regretfully tell us and firmly compel us to say goodbye. Like sweet little Gretl in the sound of music who knows that the sun has gone to bed and so must she, I peacefully surrender this day to the Giver of abundant life, not knowing if the last time I kissed my granny was the very last time or the first of a thousand last times yet to come.