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Confronting Goodbyes

“Goodbye” by Gybsteria, used with Creative Commons license

[Once in a while, there are some topics that have particular meaning to caregivers or the aging population, but also hold significant meaning to global nomads or Third Culture Kids of different ages.  How we say goodbye is one of these topics.  This article, “Confronting Goodbyes,” was originally published in Culturs, a “global, multi-cultural lifestyle magazine for Global Nomads, Third Culture Kids and racially-, ethnically-, and culturally-blended people.”]

If I had a shirt I could have worn throughout my childhood and teen years of moving around the world, it would spell out these words from my all-time favorite quote: “I hate good-byes.”

Good-byes for me meant leaving countless close friends I could be completely be myself around. I had to constantly leave behind or be left behind by the friends I had sleep-overs with, tape recorded little adventures with, and shared secrets with.  A history of “last times” with friends I grew up with, in one to two-year time spans, perforated the timeline of my days with them.

Good-byes also meant living away from my parents through some childhood years that will never be repeated.  When the tuition of the limited options for English education was beyond my parents’ budget, I at times needed to live with my grandparents and cousins in another country. Political unrest in the country of our expat assignment also sometimes led to the need for me to live away from my parents.


 Frequent goodbyes can make one want to feel numb.  However, I am not. Something always pulled me back to feeling the pain of good-byes each time they happen and I could not figure out why I had not developed a coping mechanism to feel less of the pain as I got older.


 

I also had to let go of favorite places, classes, teachers and school staff, foods, and TV shows.   Good-byes cut short the time I had with loved ones as well as whole environments. This can take a toll on emotions when it’s repeated so frequently and when it occurs before a child or adolescent has had a chance to know what stability feels like.

Frequent goodbyes can make one want to feel numb.  However, I am not. Something always pulled me back to feeling the pain of good-byes each time they happened and I could not figure out why I had not developed a coping mechanism to feel less of the pain as I got older.  I took psychology courses in college and learned more about human development in my graduate education for social work.

None of the theories or case study exercises ever seemed to satisfactorily address my sense of grief at goodbyes, the enormity of its effect in my life or the way newer goodbyes, even those I that were unintentionally re-enacted by children around me, were connected to the goodbyes of my youth.

I only figured it out when I experienced the deepest goodbye I have ever experienced in my life thus far: the goodbye journey I had with my mother when she passed away.  It was not until she passed away earlier this year that I reflected on how she said goodbye to me throughout the years.


 …she would watch her loved one not only board a plane, but watch the plane fly away until it was smaller than a dot in the sky.  My mother would watch the car of her loved one drive away until it turned a corner or the tail lights were so far they were less than sparkles at night.


 

My mother would confront each goodbye with me and other loved ones through the very last minute moment of it.  Before the historical event that changed airport security practices worldwide, she would watch her loved one not only board a plane, but watch the plane fly away until it was smaller than a dot in the sky.  My mother would watch the car of her loved one drive away until it turned a corner or the tail lights were so far they were less than sparkles at night.  She would watch my school bus drive away until she could no longer see it after shifting her position or peering around obstacles in her line of sight.

My mother knew how to say goodbye because she did not fear the pain of it.  She confronted the pain of goodbyes in a way that most think unnecessary or too overwhelming to tolerate.  It seems almost unthinkable how a wife of a foreign service career diplomat who moved so frequently can still be willing to feel the pain of goodbyes.  After making a home for her family and connecting to friends as intimately as she would with her own siblings or children, she would time and again leave behind everything she whole heartedly put herself into.

I wondered, “How did she do that?  How can my mom bear the pain over and over again?  How can it not tear her down to wanting to just give a little less the next time around and even less after that?”

When I think about my parents’ last foreign assignment, in Bahrain, I am even more bewildered.  It was at this last post that my mothers’ capacity to connect to people seemed to shine the brightest.  Her own brother mentioned how shocked he was at the countless number of my mother’s genuine friends during his visit to Bahrain.  In the single setting of a hospital waiting room, my uncle witnessed a diverse pool of visiting friends who were deeply affected when my mother had a major disabling stroke at the age of 57.  The repeated visits of numerous friends arriving in shifts for weeks demonstrated to him a deeper level of friendship than courtesy visits for a diplomat’s wife.

Reflecting back, this meant that instead of giving less of herself after each goodbye, she was able to become even more genuine after each move.


…the reason why my mother was able to connect so well to people was her lack of fear of the pain of goodbyes.  The reason why she faced the pain of goodbyes was so that she could look forward to the next hello again and again…. It was as if she knew she would not run out of what sourced her to keep giving.


 

I grew up noticing how my mother would start a conversation with a stranger and show genuine interest in the stranger’s children and spouse, sibling or aging parents they left behind.  She connected with people of different backgrounds: from the visiting Korean concert pianist who accompanied a world touring Filipino violinist, to the Filipino factory worker, to the photographer for the royal family, to the husband and wife musician team at the hotel, to fellow ambassador wives who also missed their children who were away .  In turn, they connected with her as their mother, dear sister, or aunt.  In person, I have met at least five individuals who called my mother, “mom.”  I am an only child.

It occurred to me that the reason why my mother was able to connect so well to people was her lack of fear of the pain of goodbyes.  The reason why she faced the pain of goodbyes was so that she could look forward to the next hello again and again.  Feeling the pain ensured she was still present and that she had herself to offer again for the next hello with her loved ones as well the next hello with strangers. It was as if she knew she would not run out of what sourced her to keep giving.

My mother grew up in the era when overseas travel involved loved ones parting at a ship dock.  The person on the ship would throw and stay connected with the person at the dock with a string one person would hold on one end and the other person would hold on the other until the string snaps. I believe my mother faced the heart-wrenching emptiness of watching someone leave and withstood the position of being the one left behind because emotionally, she knew she would be ok after feeling the pain.  Finding a way to live with the pain of goodbyes allowed her to spend every last moment possible in the presence of those she loved.  Even to be near enough to the plane that took off was special to her. The cost of the pain in doing things like this was worth it for her.  Perhaps this fueled her until she could make it to the next reunion with loved ones.


 It is healthy to feel pain.  We need to embrace the heart-wrenching pain of goodbyes so that we can embrace the joys of the hellos and the connections that can form from them.


 

We as a Third Culture Kid or global nomad tribe must know that we can be ok after feeling the pain of goodbyes so that we can look forward to the next hellos.  It is healthy to feel pain.  We need to embrace the heart-wrenching pain of goodbyes so that we can embrace the joys of the hellos and the connections that can form from them.

I realized the answer I was looking for just were not in textbooks.  I hated goodbyes and hate the remnants of painful goodbyes from my youth still, but I continue to face them anyway because it is part of the journey of valuing relationships.  Without feeling pain at the last moments with people we value, how do we know we are allowing ourselves to experience the full extent of vulnerability that allows for growth in relationships?  Pain is a miserable emotion, but without it, we miss out on the broad spectrum of life and relational experiences.  Without pain, how do we know we are truly alive?

The entirety of my all-time favorite quote states,

“Why can’t we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together forever?  Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. And then we have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes… You know what I need? I need more hellos.” (Charles M. Schulz, “Snoopy, Come Home!” 1972, song “It Changes”).

The next time you find yourself dreading goodbyes, consider how your last goodbyes can prepare you to embrace your next hellos.

 

Dedicated to my mom, Evangeline V. Dumapias, who passed away on March 15, 2014 and all wives or husbands who give so much of themselves in their support of a spouse with a globally mobile career.

About the Author

Dear Family Caregiver: I Get It

Photo Credit: William Arthur Fine Stationary

Photo credits: “Letters Play an Important Role in Our Lives” by William Arthur Fine Stationary used with Creative Commons license.

Dear (Expat) Family Caregiver,*

You may be a daughter, a son, a husband, wife or other family member of the one you are caring for.  You may have children of your own or you may not.  You may be married or single.  You may be working or you may be retired. You may be rich or poor, light-skinned or dark-skinned, young or old.

Whoever you are, I just want to say I get it.   I might not know everything about your situation, but I get how care-giving, like parenting, can be the hardest job you’ll ever love.  And I get how most people will not understand what you’re going through, unless they’ve been through a certain level of care-giving themselves.

You may feel somewhat invisible to the outside world because you spend so much time right next to or within an ear shot of the one you are caring for. You may feel guilty when you leave the house to try to seek out or spend time with new friends, most of whom don’t really come around because you haven’t deepened the friendships yet.    After all, why spend time with others who don’t even know you that well, when someone that has known you longer, needs your help? …Right?

Yet, there is that part of  you that wants to establish that circle of support.  Most people need to connect.  However, growing up as a Third Culture Kid (TCK) or Cross Culture Kid (CCK), or being an expat adult, it’s challenging to deepen (non-expat) friendships.  Seldom do friendships in a non-expat environment reach that level where you can talk about your childhood or career and friends won’t think you’re bragging… simply because the backdrop of your past happens to be a setting they can’t relate to.   It’s hard enough to find friends around whom you don’t have to explain why where you were born just isn’t home, why you want to move every 4 or 5 years and why you just can’t stand small talk, but even harder as a caregiver with limited time…Right?

Maybe you want to have friends there for you simply because you just need to connect.  But how can you, if you feel a tugging guilt that brings you back home?  Or you’re just juggling care-giving and work.. maybe in addition to parenthood and other responsibilities?  

Maybe the friends you have now aren’t at that level to go to you because they expect to see you around more in order for them to come around?…  Sometimes, even if you are part of family unit, you just also need friends outside the family (which is absolutely fine, by the way)…  Am I wrong?

Maybe you can’t show up as often as your counterparts to major events or regular activities.  You know… the ones that help you get that promotion, that “best” in front of “friend,” that word of mouth that leads to opportunities, that reputation as a leader with accomplishments for a cause you are so passionate about, or that circle of friends as an insider….  Am I off?

But you also might always have in the back of your mind: this period of my life, when I have the chance to spend more time with a loved one as a (or even the) caregiver does not come back around, at least not for this same loved one.

You are not complaining, but may just want to know that you are not alone in this journey.

I just want to tell you right now that I get it.  You aren’t alone. And you aren’t invisible.  I see you, I hear you, I feel you.

Stick around and I hope to continue to meet with you here.  There are things I want to share to help you on this journey, which does not last forever. I’ve been there, I’ve made some pretty tough decisions as a caregiver for my mom, as a TCK and as a parent.  I’ve reached that dreaded milestone when it’s the last day of care-giving as you know it, and in some ways, I’m still going through it.

My goal is to help you and help families make the most of their time together, whether it is for a temporary or long term situation.  If there is a way we, as family caregivers with a global nomad background, can meet in person, I will try to make it happen. But for now, I hope to continue to meet you and hear from you here.

 

Until our next hello,

Myra

* I acknowledge that this letter may not fit every caregiver’s situations completely.  I hope that you will still find some information valuable in some way to the particular journey you are going through.

Please click here to find more information on Third Culture Kids, Cross Cultural Kids, expats and life stage of aging, care-giving, disability and retirement 

Please click here to find more information about the author.

© Myra Dumapias and The Last Boarding Call, 2014-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Myra Dumapias and The Last Boarding Call with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.