Three months ago, I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, sobbing and realizing it was time to let go. See, the trouble was, I didn't want to. Goodbye is such a scary word. It's so final. Without meaning it, I let it roll off my tongue. "Goodbye." It didn't sound right. None of this seemed right. It was a barbell of a word, and I could barely lift a five-pound weight emotionally.
Yet I knew that in order to move on with my own life, to get past the tragedies of the last year and move on to the hopefully brighter future, I had to stop holding on to those I had lost. Readying myself, I prepared to hoist the forty-pound word. I addressed the sky, opened my mouth, and...
Froze.
Because in that instant it occurred to me: Yes, I needed to let go and move on. But that didn't mean I had to say goodbye.
Losing a loved one is never an easy thing. Usually, it knocks you off your feet with overwhelming grief. And for a while, it's okay to not be okay. In fact, it's okay to never really, truly be okay again. But sometimes it's tempting to not let yourself heal. I, personally, had thought that if I let myself heal, if I stopped letting myself be sad or angry, then my loss would stop mattering.
It never stops mattering. It changes the way you live your every day, but it doesn't have to do that negatively. And this is something I've been discovering for the past ten months or so.
I was listening to the "Moana" soundtrack a few weeks ago, and this lyric struck me: "I will carry you here in my heart, you remind me that come what may, I know the way." The ones we love never truly leave us. If they've impacted our lives, we carry them in our hearts for the rest of our lives. There are bits of them, all around us. It's why I can't walk past a John Deere or a Harley-Davidson logo without cracking a tiny smile and thinking about those I have waiting for me on the other side.
And so, that night three months ago, I didn't say, "Goodbye." I looked up to the sky, smiled through my tears, and said, "See you soon."
Because here's the other thing: Jesus provided that hope for us, two thousand years ago. His sacrifice on the cross has given us the hope of eternal life, and the knowledge that this life is merely a reflection of the life to come. I know that those I have lost in the past year are with the Lord. And because of this knowledge, this hope, I know that I will see them again. Maybe not soon for me, but soon for them, certainly. From what I understand of heaven, the waiting seems a bit less hard there.
So for as long as I have, I'll go on living. I'll carry them in my heart. I will smile when I think of them, and, if I feel so moved, yes, I'll cry without any shame. But I have hope. Because it's not a final goodbye, it's temporary.
It's see you soon.
