Saying Goodbye

It was 10 a.m. on Saturday, my sister Jessica and her family were packing to fly home to LA on JetBlue’s 4:50 p.m. out of JFK. Around the house piles for transport to California were emerging like ant hills on sidewalk seams. Suitcases were being scuffled across our tiled kitchen floor, and snacks were being ziplocked for the flight. Dirty linen was spilling out of the laundry room like a cup run-eth over. Jessica was already crying. The girls and I were already sad. I was physically hugging my sister who was still in my kitchen and feeling the void of her departure at the same very same time.  Saying goodbye is one of the hardest things we do. I'm still learning how.

My mom told me "It's always easier to be leaving than it is to be left behind." Well, maybe. In our family it seems to be “harder” either way. Saying adios to Remi and leaving her with our babysitter Ella at ten weeks old sent me on weepy journey up Manhattan's 6th Avenue to an Old Navy. I spent my two free hours on the phone from the dressing room, crying to my mother about how worried I was and how much I missed her.

One of many goodbyes

When Remi started nursery school and was having a pretty hard separation time herself (standing at her cubby looking in at a photo of me), I was the mom slumping down the hallway with rounded shoulders and a red nose. I was also the mom that stood outside the classroom door trying to peak in at Remi through the cracks in the rainbow collage of construction paper. I was not much better when she took her first solo bus ride to day camp. At least I had the presence of mind to turn around when I swallowed the vomit that rushed into my mouth.

Our first (and only) sleep-a-way camp goodbye was on par with a best friend moving across the country - heartbreaking. Visiting day was anxiety redux. Our goodbye weaknesses aren't only limited to people; we have a thing about places, too. Remi cried when she said goodbye to her day camp. And our apartment. And Chuckie Cheese! When I leave for an occasional girls’ weekend, my goodbye is laced with departure guilt and tear-swollen eyes. Not so the men.

Todd leaves for work trips, ultra running races, camping weekends with the guys and University of Michigan reunions without so much as a sniffle. He'll deny it, but he's rejoicing inside. Chad heads out for sleepovers, camp late nights and first bus rides with barely a thought as to goodbye. I've asked Chad, "What's the secret little man?” wondering why there are no tears, drama or clawing hugs" before we separate? "I tell myself, I know I'm going to have a good time. Why,” he continued, "would I get sad when I know I'm going to have fun?" Hmmmm...

At just about eight, Chad has perspective and wisdom that exceeds his tender age. He squeezes every last drop out of his lemons and makes awesome lemonade while I'm still sucking the sour rind. If it were only that easy for me, my sister and Remi, my mini-me. We have the weepy gene, the-get-sad-before-goodbye gene. We dread separations and farewells and start obsessing about them immediately after we say our "hellos."

At car-loading time last Saturday, we cried and hugged as if Jess was leaving for the Land Of No Return where they wipe out your personality and sell your soul. Apparently, based on our goodbye sadness, she was also headed to a place where there are no phones, Skype, Facetime, email, texting or cell phones. We shed excessive amounts of salt through endless tears. Chad, on the other hand, watched all this drama with the same disconnect he reserves for infomericals.

As Jessie, Brian and Phoebe were on their way to the airport, the void their absence left was palpable and heavy. My shoulders were beginning  to round and I thought about drawing the curtains closed. Then Chad asked me to build a Lego all-terrain vehicle with him and help him organize his football cards. I gladly accepted his invitation. Maybe he's on to something...