Not Good Bye

This year, I almost decided not to go home for Christmas, because leaving again is so hard. And the older I get, the harder it becomes, because I am increasingly aware of how much is lost in the time between visits and how relentlessly time marches on.

I left home 20 years ago and essentially, for 20 years, I have been alone, without any kind of support system.

When I found out my fiancee was sleeping with my best friend, when I was diagnosed with cervical cancer at 22, when I was planning my wedding, expecting my first baby, giving birth and then ineptly, worriedly, frantically trying to care for a premature infant, suffering a life threatening illness with my second pregnancy, and trying to parent two amazingly smart children with learning disabilities....I have been alone for all of it.

I have missed out on all the family goings on. I have watched and worried from a distance as my mother grew ill, my aunt grew old, and my neice and nephews grew up in an instant.

I saw all of them moments after they were born. They were so beautiful; pink and squalling and perfect. And then, suddenly, the twins were four years old and my oldest nephew seven. He is so comically mature with his "dude"s and "awesome man"s. And I didn't get to see any of the sweetly silly in between.

So, as I said, each year it gets harder and harder to tear myself away. Some years, it seems that the emotional toll of leaving is almost more than the joy of arriving is worth. And even the happiness of being there is tainted by the knowledge that another good bye is looming.

But I can't not go. My boys have to know where and who I came from. I don't want my family, my home, my history to be a mystery to them. They have to know that their heritage is about more than hillbilly vernacular and bible beating. That's unfair, but if I'm honest, it's how I feel sometimes, particularly when my bitterness and resentment over the situation are boiling over.

So we go, and when we leave, I cry. And cry. And cry. I start to cry even before we leave, sobbing quietly into the pillow the night before our departure, so as not to wake my sleeping husband.

Last year, I cried silently all the way to Chicago, while my boys exchanged worried glances in the back seat and husband gripped the steering wheel tightly in concern. He is torn. He feels that he has to acknowledge my heartbreak, but he knows I would rather just be left alone with it.

Probably one of the worst things about leaving is leaving my sister. She was born before I was even old enough to understand what being without her was like. She has simply always been there. For 18 years we shared a room, whispering and giggling long into the night. For 36 years she has been my friend, my giggle mate, my co-conspirator, my secret keeper, and my dream believer.

She is truly....my best friend.

Last year, when I hugged her good-bye, my arms simply refused to disengage themselves from the embrace in which I held her. We held onto each other and sobbed helplessly as our husbands, children and parents looked on. And when at last we were able to let go, we had to hurry away from one another without looking back.

This year, she opted out.

She sent her husband over to collect her offspring and with him a message that she just couldn't face another good-bye, just couldn't spend another whole day weeping over something she couldn't change.

I was hurt, at first, but then I began to see the wisdom of her decision. If saying good-bye hurts so much...why do it??

I know that kicking the door frame in a fit of pique hurts a great deal, so I take care not to do that any more. And yet I continue to subject myself to emotional pain, that is no less real than the physical pain that I protect myself so carefully from. It seems a little silly, doesn't it?

Years ago, she gave me a book of poems called "My Sister, My Friend". I got it out today, hoping to find one that expresses all the things I feel about her and about leaving her. They are all woefully inadequate, either because they are pathetically schmaltzy, or because they just don't encompass what I feel is the truly unique and special nature of our relationship.

Someday, I will write one myself, full of all the meaning that a borrowed verse could never express. I'm a competent poet when I put my mind to it. But my heart is too heavy right now and the words are thickly wedged behind the giant lump in my throat.

So for now I'll just say...not good bye.