November 25: End in Tears, Saying Goodbye, Hand Turkeys

"It'll all end in tears, I know it," shouted Eddie [the Heart of Gold's on board computer] after them, and closed the hatchway again.

Eddie is learning something pretty human at this moment.  That is, saying goodbye is never easy.  Whether to a supercomputer.  Or a friend getting on an airplane.  A daughter getting married.  A couple getting uncoupled.  A parent dying.  A door closing.  Goodbyes, in my experience, are heavy on the "bye," very light on the "good."

Today, I had a doctor's appointment.  Just a routine, six-month diabetic check.  This doctor has been taking care of my health for close to 34 years.  That's a long time.  He's watched me grow up, get married, have kids, and acquire gray hair.  This afternoon, we had to say goodbye.  He's retiring after a very long career.

Now, my doctor and I haven't been best friends or anything.  We rarely saw each other outside of my regular semi-annual exams.  Once, he attended a poetry reading I gave, and we went out for beer with a group of people.  He bought me a drink, and we talked about poetry.  (I had no idea he knew anything about poetry.  Go figure.)  After almost four decades of blood and urine tests, pokings and proddings, cold stethoscopes and one sigmoidoscopy (if you don't know what that is, count yourself lucky), I learned that he read Mary Oliver and Wendell Berry.

I liked this doctor, understood where he was coming from.  Granted, his bedside manner was not the most comforting.  He wasn't a teddy bear.  Yet, I never questioned that he cared about me and my well being.  So, my appointment with him today was bittersweet.  I will miss having him as a constant in my life.  We spent most of my appointment trying to think of the name of an Irish-American poet from the Seattle area.  (Neither of us could come up with his name.)  At the end, he handed me a route slip, shook my hand, said something like "It's been a pleasure taking care of you," and then he was gone.

That's what most goodbyes are like.  They happen quickly and are over before you've had a chance to really comprehend them.  The person walks out of the room and disappears forever from your life, with barely a glance backward.

I have had to contemplate a lot of goodbyes this year, and I'm still contemplating a few more.  This evening, all I can think about is parting ways with people I care about and trust and, to a greater or lesser extent, love.  These thoughts have been keeping me awake at night.  They are keeping me awake right now.

I did one thing this evening that provided a little relief from goodbye reflections.  I decorated a hand turkey.  For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, it's pretty simple.  You trace the outline of your hand on a sheet of paper.  Then, you decorate this tracing to make it look like a Thanksgiving turkey.  I remember doing hand turkeys in first and second grades.  This particular turkey is for a contest at the cardiology office where I work.  Whoever submits the best hand turkey wins a $10 Starbucks gift card.  (I will not be in the competition since I organized it.  I am submitting a turkey simply for the fun of it.)

Sometimes the only way to take your mind off your goodbyes is silliness.  Or art.

Saint Marty did a little of both this evening.

February 28: Saying Goodbye, Tomas Tranströmer, "Elegy"

Saying goodbye is not easy.  Ever.  Especially if it's a permanent goodbye.

Yet, there are people who can lighten the goodbye.  Remind you of better, happier times.

Tonight, Saint Marty was blessed with such friends.

Elegy

by:  Tomas Tranströmer

I open the first door.
It is a large sunlit room.
A heavy car passes outside
and makes the china quiver.

I open door number two.
Friends!  You drank some darkness
and became visible.

Door number three.  A narrow hotel room,
View on an alley.
One lamppost shines on the asphalt.
Experience, its beautiful slag.

April 1: Wonder Twin, Mark Strand, "The Remains"

I have been lucky for almost twenty years.  I have had a job that has allowed me to work with one of my best friends.  For long-time readers of this blog, I have called her Wonder Twin in the past.  She and I are so alike, it feels as if we were separated at birth.

Well, at the end of this coming week, Wonder Twin will be cleaning out her locker at work and saying goodbye.  She has taken another job, and I will no longer be seeing her on a daily basis.  I have been having a very hard time with this reality.  In fact, I don't know exactly how I'm going to deal with it.

It's not like I'm never going to see Wonder Twin again, but our times together will be much more limited.  Possibly just once a month.  That makes me very sad.  It's almost as if I have to empty out a certain part of my past.  Take that shoe box out, sort through its contents, and, piece-by-piece, say "goodbye."

Saint Marty is thankful that Wonder Twin has been in his life, helping him through some really shitty times.

The Remains

by:  Mark Strand

I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.
At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.

What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name. I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.

My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds. How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.

May 6: A Wink, Saying Goodbye, Last Three Days

...Wilbur had already decided how he would carry the egg sac--there was only one way possible.  He carefully took the little bundle in his mouth and held it there on top of his tongue.  He remembered what Charlotte had told him--that the sac was waterproof and strong.  It felt funny on his tongue and made him drool a bit.  And of course he couldn't say anything.  But as he was being shoved into the crate, he looked up at Charlotte and gave her a wink.  She knew he was saying good-bye in the only way he could.  And she knew her children were safe.

Wilbur is leaving his best friend forever in this paragraph.  He knows she is dying, and he also knows he must leave her to perish alone.  It is an incredibly sad moment, coming directly after one of the happiest moments--Wilbur's triumph at the Fair.  He has no choice.  Charlotte is doomed, and he must go back to his home in Zuckerman's barn.

I usually avoid asking for prayers for myself.  I am very lucky, for the most part.  I have a job.  I have a healthy family and a roof over my head.  I'm better off than a majority of the population of this planet.  However, I am having trouble this week.  I must say goodbye to my current job and group of friends.  I have no choice.  I must leave.  And that is very difficult for me.

I really love the people with whom I work.  I love helping the patients.  Above all, I love the fact that, even when I'm at my job, I'm home in a way.  For 17 years, I've worked at this place, with most of these people.  One of my best friends is my coworker.  And I have to say goodbye to all of this.

I'm already a little melancholy.  By the end of the week, I'm probably going to be utterly despondent for at least a few days.  Of course, I'm nervous about starting a new occupation, meeting new people, forging a new life.  All that sort of terrifies me.  That's why I need help.

Please, say a prayer for Saint Marty this week.  He's going to need a lot of help returning to the barn by himself, without his friends.

New job, here I come

December 9: Abandonment Issues, Last Day, Coworker

Today is my friend/coworker's last day of working with me.  On Monday, she moves to her new department full-time, and I am, once again, the sole business office person at the surgery center.  That means I register all the patients, assemble all the charts, charge all the accounts, type up all the surgical estimates, answer all the e-mails and phone calls, take all the surgical schedulings, send everything to the medical records department, check everything back from the medical records department, and clean the business office from top-to-bottom once a week.  All with a smile.  I'm sure I've forgotten a few tasks, but that gives you a pretty good idea of my days.  Oh, plus I have teaching at the university (which I actually love doing, but it's not enough to pay all my bills or provide medical insurance for my family).

I don't hold it against my coworker that she's leaving.  She needs to.  She has to pay her bills and provide for her family.  She didn't have a choice, and my rational mind understands that.

However, there's a part of me (a really ugly, snotty, tubercular part) that is feeling panicked and abandoned.  I've been fighting these abandonment issues for a few years now.  I know it goes back to the time my wife chose her addictions over me and our family.  When that happened, I was in a pretty dark place for a very long time (almost a year-and-a-half).  Not feeling worthy or loved in any way.  I can feel those same emotions sitting in my head this morning.  I don't want to feel this way, but I do.  It cuts pretty close to the bone for me.

Now, I can hear a ton of you saying, "Oh, for Christ sake, get over it."  I've said the same thing to myself a million times.  However, it's just not that easy.  Even though I know my wife's choice five years ago had nothing to do with me, I still felt somehow responsible, as if I could have done something to prevent her from leaving at the time.  My friend/coworker leaving today has nothing to do with me, and, yet, I still take it personally.

Abandonment is not an easy thing to overcome, no matter what age you are.  I don't think I'm going to be able to say goodbye to my friend when I leave work this afternoon.  I'm probably going to have to say "see you on Monday," just to stay in a better place for a while longer.

Parting is never easy.  Saying goodbye sucks.

Once again, Saint Marty is just a mess.