I must have been about 11 years old the first time it happened. A schoolmate with whom I was very close at that time, left in the middle of the school year. Her mother was moving to a province very far away.
I'd lost my grandfather at 7 years old, and that was really tough too. But losing a friend's company, knowing that they were still out there somewhere but prevented from that regular contact ... was almost worse than losing someone to the grim reaper.
The sense of loss was incredible. I am not a person who makes friends easily, even less so when I was a child. She was my only friend. And she left.
As I grew older, this was a pattern that repeated with various people and for various reasons. Often. So often, in fact, that I became afraid to make friends with someone new, because I absolutely KNEW that I would have to say goodbye to them; they ALWAYS left. Or they were so far away that it was just as though they were gone from my life. Keeping in touch was really difficult; I'd write and they wouldn't write back.
Loneliness was a frequent companion. Grief too.
Abandonment. Whether intentional or not, whether permanent or not, it hurts.
A few years ago, a family moved to our province and started attending our church. And I tried not to like them. I really did. I knew - given the nature of the work that brought them here - that they would eventually leave.
However ... I couldn't help myself. Their dedication to being real in their faith, and their love of worship were akin to ours; their positive attitudes were something I wanted to emulate. I found myself wanting to be with them, watching them interact with each other, and cheering them on in their successes and their vision for the ministry of which they and we were a part. I grew to love them - to consider them friends.
And now ... all too soon, the time has come to let go - again - and say goodbye. The job that brought them here ... naturally ... is leading them away from here.
When I first heard, a little over 24 hours ago, that this was going to happen, I felt as though someone had kicked me in the gut... that overwhelmed, breathless feeling of betrayal that quickly leads to nausea. Then it migrated into a profound sadness that stays even in the midst of laughter over other things. It's like this deep and guilty wound, scabbed over on the outside, but never quite healed on the inside, that someone punches (hard) every time a loved one leaves, either through death or distance.
Guilty, because I am fighting the thought that I "should" be happy for my friends - and all I can think of is how much I will miss them, how things won't be the same without them. Selfish? yes.
But it's allowed. I'm allowed to feel this way because that's how I feel. Simple as that. The fact that I have learned to feel what I feel and let it happen instead of stuffing it down inside, helps me to heal a little more than I would have if I'd lived (once more, like so many other times) in denial.
The reality is, I really AM going to miss these wonderful people. It would be easier if I could even be angry at them - dismiss them. I can't. I need to work through the stages of the grief I know is normal and natural for me to experience.
It's okay. It's hard - very hard - but it's okay.
I guess I'll just have to make the best of the time that's left to us.
I'd lost my grandfather at 7 years old, and that was really tough too. But losing a friend's company, knowing that they were still out there somewhere but prevented from that regular contact ... was almost worse than losing someone to the grim reaper.
The sense of loss was incredible. I am not a person who makes friends easily, even less so when I was a child. She was my only friend. And she left.
As I grew older, this was a pattern that repeated with various people and for various reasons. Often. So often, in fact, that I became afraid to make friends with someone new, because I absolutely KNEW that I would have to say goodbye to them; they ALWAYS left. Or they were so far away that it was just as though they were gone from my life. Keeping in touch was really difficult; I'd write and they wouldn't write back.
Loneliness was a frequent companion. Grief too.
Abandonment. Whether intentional or not, whether permanent or not, it hurts.
A few years ago, a family moved to our province and started attending our church. And I tried not to like them. I really did. I knew - given the nature of the work that brought them here - that they would eventually leave.
However ... I couldn't help myself. Their dedication to being real in their faith, and their love of worship were akin to ours; their positive attitudes were something I wanted to emulate. I found myself wanting to be with them, watching them interact with each other, and cheering them on in their successes and their vision for the ministry of which they and we were a part. I grew to love them - to consider them friends.
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| Girl Looking Unhappy Image courtesy of Stuart Miles (royalty-free under certain restrictions) at freedigitalphotos.net |
And now ... all too soon, the time has come to let go - again - and say goodbye. The job that brought them here ... naturally ... is leading them away from here.
When I first heard, a little over 24 hours ago, that this was going to happen, I felt as though someone had kicked me in the gut... that overwhelmed, breathless feeling of betrayal that quickly leads to nausea. Then it migrated into a profound sadness that stays even in the midst of laughter over other things. It's like this deep and guilty wound, scabbed over on the outside, but never quite healed on the inside, that someone punches (hard) every time a loved one leaves, either through death or distance.
Guilty, because I am fighting the thought that I "should" be happy for my friends - and all I can think of is how much I will miss them, how things won't be the same without them. Selfish? yes.
But it's allowed. I'm allowed to feel this way because that's how I feel. Simple as that. The fact that I have learned to feel what I feel and let it happen instead of stuffing it down inside, helps me to heal a little more than I would have if I'd lived (once more, like so many other times) in denial.
The reality is, I really AM going to miss these wonderful people. It would be easier if I could even be angry at them - dismiss them. I can't. I need to work through the stages of the grief I know is normal and natural for me to experience.
It's okay. It's hard - very hard - but it's okay.
I guess I'll just have to make the best of the time that's left to us.
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