Saying a Final Goodbye

             Last June my aunt died of a sudden heart attack.  Three weeks later my mother succumbed to a year-long battle with colon cancer.   Enduring the trauma of these two losses reinforced my understanding of a grim reality of life.   It does not matter if the end of a loved one's life comes quickly or slowly, whether you know it is going to happen or are taken by surprise, whether you are blindsided or are prepared.  No matter what the circumstances may be, no one has the luxury of saying a final goodbye.

            My godmother and aunt Tessie was truly a second mother to me.  I spent a lot of time with her and my uncle when I was growing up and I have countless happy memories of our times together. As I grew older, got a job and had a family of my own, I had fewer opportunities to spend time with my aunt.   When she died, I had not spoken to her in a few months, but I believe that she knew how much I loved and adored her. 

            Our last conversation was a text message exchange on her birthday in March.  I have saved this message on my telephone and look at it from time to time.  I began by wishing her a happy birthday  and she thanked me, joking about how old she was.    I texted back, "You may be older but you are looking damn good!  I have a great day!  I love you!"     The last words I communicated to my aunt were the ones I would have spoken to her if I was there the night she unexpectedly passed away.  I loved her and I told her when I had the chance, and that brings me peace. 

            I had plenty of opportunities to have a final goodbye conversation with my mother.  I was with her in the hospital room when the doctors delivered the news that she would not survive.  I was with her at home during the nine days she spent there before moving to a hospice center.  I was by her bedside when she lost consciousness and left only hours before she took her final breath.   But I never said  goodbye.  I could not say those words because I did not know exactly when she was going to die.  It never seemed like the right thing to do.  If I said those words, I was giving voice to the finality of her death, making it a reality.  I did not want her to die, so I did not say goodbye.

            But I didn't really have to because of a special moment my mother and I shared before she went to hospice.  She was sitting up in her bed when I came to see her.  At this stage in her illness she weighed less than ninety pounds and was extremely weak, barely able to move or speak audibly.  I emptied her drainage bags, cleaned her bedding, and helped her change into a clean nightgown.  I was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking into her eyes, speaking no words.  She was looked at me, raised her hand, and gently stroked my face.  She said, "I am proud of myself."  It seemed like such an odd comment  I questioned, "Why are you proud of yourself?"  Her eyes filled with tears and she said, "Because I raised you."  I had no words.  In this brief conversation my mother expressed her feelings toward me.  My constant presence by her side in her most difficult moments expressed mine.  The love we had for each other was evident.  There was need  to actually say "goodbye." 
               I do not choose to use the phrase "learning a life lesson" to describe my painful experiences last summer.  The word "learning" implies that you previously did not know something, but I already understood the importance of treasuring and appreciating my loved ones.   I already knew that  we need to tell our family members and friends how much we care for them while they are still here with us.  I already knew that our actions can show the depth of our affections more powerfully than words.  I already know how lucky I was to be loved by two of the most precious people who ever lived.   My losses showed me that circumstances can sometimes render words insufficient or impossible.   I was reminded that you cannot wait for the chance to express your feelings for someone you love in a tidy, final conversation. That chance might never come or may come in a form that you do not recognize or expect.   Sometimes, perhaps often, things don't end with a "goodbye."  They just end.