Be grateful for the "goodbyes"

Yesterday was yet another long day of goodbyes.  Like it or not, we are currently crying our way through a season of goodbyes here in Congo.  Some goodbyes are easy: friends who plan to return to the ship after a brief vacation, or to begin a new volunteer commitment with us in the fall.  Some goodbyes are hard: friends who do not plan to return to the ship at all, who are returning to homes far away, friends we may never see again this side of heaven.  Some goodbyes are impossible: little people who we have devoted our time and affections to, who we now we leave behind; faces we may only ever see again in pictures or in our minds, but are forever drawn on our hearts; patients whose lives have been changed by our time here, and whose lives have changed us...and the list goes on...

No matter the goodbye, it is still difficult.  "Goodbye" is one of those funny words that you can both say and feel.  My emotional response vacillates.  There are certainly times when all I can think is "can we please head to sea already so we can at least get a break from the goodbyes for a little while?"; however, even though that is sometimes what I think, it isn't really what I want.  Honestly, I really value relational closure - I value being able to say goodbye.

Last night, I walked back onto the ship grateful that I had been able to say all the goodbyes I had needed to that day...or so I thought.

Less than two hours later, I received a text message from my cabinmate: you just missed a phone call.  The chaplain is looking for you.  It's an emergency - call home.

My uncle died...unexpectedly...horrifically.  My grandpa is now completely alone.  The shock in his voice as he told me about the days leading up to my uncle's death and the horrible morning of finding him dead, calling the paramedics, watching the coroner remove my uncle's body - it broke my heart, shattering me down into my very depths.  We rarely see eye-to-eye, but the truth is I have always been "Grandpa's Girl".  The only grandkid, the only girl - I know that even when he doesn't know how to show it, in his heart he treasures me dearly.  So what do you say to a brokenhearted old man, who is 8,500 miles away and utterly alone?  How does your heart not break to remember how profoundly grateful he was when you dropped everything and caught the first flight out 12 years ago when your grandmother was dying?  How do you keep it together when you tell him that you cannot be by his side, literally holding his hand, holding him up, holding him together?  How do you not feel like a monster when you hear the words come out of your mouth: "Grandpa, we'll be at sea when you have the service.  Remember your days in the Navy?  There's no way on or off the ship...Grandpa, I'm sorry, but I can't be there..."?  How do you not fall to pieces when it finally sinks in that your uncle...one of only two...the guy who you looked up to more than almost anyone else when you were little because he was so cool with his motorcycle and giant cellphone...the man you just saw a few weeks ago...the man who, broken though he was, always loved you more than anything...what do you do when it sinks in that he's gone at only 48?  What do you do when it finally hits you: of all the goodbyes of yesterday, that was the one I would have most wanted and needed to say?