Farewells and Fairy Dust

Within the last two days two different people have brought up how they handle farewells. What it is to show and hide emotion. What is "normal". What the movies make it seem like, like the fairytale side of us wants to believe things to be. 

We all say goodbye in different ways. We all have a different way of handling those last moments. That last hour, the last minutes, last seconds - they twist your heart. We all react differently to how it feels.

K (a reader) emailed me wanting to know if she did something wrong - because she had just said goodbye to her fiance and she didn't cling to him for dear life, or cry her eyes out holding him, or run back to him, or beg him over and over again not to go. She held him, she quietly told him she loved him, that she'd miss him, for him to be safe, and she walked away. 

There is a picture - and I have mentioned it before - of C kissing my forehead for the last time before he deployed to Afghanistan. One of my closest friends took it with a very simple camera in an assembly center filled with hundreds of people sharing the exact same moment. In this picture, there is a look on each of our faces that words do not exist for. There is so much sadness and pain and strength and beauty - all of it, on C's face and mine, at the exact same time. I cannot tell you what that picture means to me - to see exactly what that very last moment looked like. I feel so incredibly blessed to have it.

The last hour before C left we didn't say much. We sat beside eachother. We held hands. We just felt each other's presence. We barely spoke. 

It isn't that I didn't have anything to say. It isn't that C didn't have anything to say. It's that the things that come into your mind, that take over your thoughts, in the moments before your soldier leaves to go to war, are not the things that need to be spoken of in those moments. It's the what-ifs and the just-in-cases and the this-may-be-the-last-times that are the words that sit on your lips, that you fight to say or not to say. C and I choose not to say them. 

Because we can't live for the what-ifs and the just-in-cases. He can't enter into battle with my if-this-is-the-last-times on his heart. There is no room for that fear - not from both of us.

I want him to enter into battle with confidence in love, blanketed in prayer, covered in encouragement. I want him to enter into battle knowing that I can do this. That I will continue our life, that when he returns home, I will hold him with all of my might and praise God for bringing him back to me.

I told K that she went through her goodbye with more grace than I could believe - that everyone handles this differently and that I thought she did well.

I know some families who do not go to the "drop-off" at all. Who say their goodbyes in the privacy of their home. I can understand that. 

To watch the love of your life, the father of your children, walk away ... to know that this might be the last time ... to fight through those incredibly intimate moments surrounded by hundreds of others. I can see why some people choose to go through that in private.

The goodbyes are rarely what you see in the movies, what we imagine in fairy tales. You do not get to run back and pull him from formation. There is no "last call" for your soldier coming over the speaker as he kisses you once more. The reality is far different.

We all handle the goodbye in different ways. But I would ask that you remember that while this is your last time with your soldier, it is your soldier's last time with you. What image you leave them with is what they will carry with them - whatever you choose it to be. You can crumble at their feet, fight to keep them in your arms, and they will carry that. They will worry over it. They will wonder if you can make it through this. You can kiss them with all of your heart, simply, lovingly, completely. You can let them know you are going to be okay. That you will miss them. That you will be waiting here with open arms. You can stand tall, and give the slightest nod and tiniest smile to leave them with. 

It may be the hardest thing you do. 

It also may be the greatest gift - letting them know you are here for the long haul, that you are strong enough, that you love them to Afghanistan and back - to do so with the tiniest, most calming smile. To give them the final image that you would want them to carry into battle.

You can give that to your soldier to keep with him, to carry in the stars closest to his heart.

You will be given the Grace.

Always.

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You can read about the day C left for his last deployment -  "Closest to the Heart" -  HERE