Being in the Moment of Loss

Today one of my dear friends, Chris, is leaving Seattle. Today is the day the truck gets packed and she leaves to fly out at 8 pm or so.

Her husband has asked for assistance in loading the truck today. I am free today, however I want to skip helping out. I have a perfectly valid excuse: my ankle is still unhappy from its recent escapade on the side of the street. But that is just an excuse. I want to skip saying goodbye. As if not saying goodbye will prevent them from leaving, or will prevent me from having to experience or accept the loss of my friend.

I’m drawing parallels in my head to my friend Jenni. I never said goodbye to Jenni when I moved to Seatle. My selfishness of not wanting to wait, not wanting to be tied down, not wanting to acknowledge the connections I had to where I lived robbed me of saying goodbye. I’ve seen Jenni since, and I’ve said goodbye when we’ve parted. But it isn’t the same.

This summer has had a remarkable number of friends from UUC who have or will be leaving. I haven’t said goodbye to all of them who have left. The reasons are complicated and pedantic, inconsequential and with consequences.

I want to avoid the moment where we actually say goodbye, as if skipping saying goodbye will prevent her and everyone leaving from actually leaving. All skipping saying goodbye does is save me from being in the moment.

I love being in the moment when its fun, exhilarating, peaceful, meditative, or musical. Not allowing myself to be in the moment of final loss cheapens and degrades those other moments. I know I cannot live fully without accepting both.