Fifty Ways to Love Your Leaver

  A scene in Out of Africa depicts Baroness Blixen pecking a kiss on the Baron’s cheek as he is leaving on safari.  When he remarks, “That is not much of a goodbye kiss,” she replies, “I am better at hello.”  It seems we are better at welcoming than “welgoing.”

  Life is a perpetual circuit of going and coming.  For an event as frequent as leaving or its partner sending, you would think we would give it more attention.

  We do have grand sendoff events: our children’s first day of school, first overnight at grandma’s, the prom, off to college, honeymoon, a plane flight or ship sailing.  Some are fraught with anxiety like our teen’s first solo drive or our children moving away.  These are unique milestones while most of our departures repeat uncounted times.  Where is the grand sendoff?

  We have few words in our language for sending someone off well. There is no word “welgo.”  The French have bon voyage, the Spanish vaya con Dios and in Hebrew there is tsetchem leshalom, go to peace.  We have Godspeed, but when was the last time you said that.  Mostly we say something like bye, goodbye, happy landing, the nearly dismissive ta-ta, or the slang seeya.  The trifling nature of our word choice seems expressive of our regard for the moment.

  I was in college when I first noticed that my father watched me leaving.  He would watch me drive down the street until I turned the corner out of sight.  He didn’t call out or wave.  He simply stood there cleaving to me until the last glimpse expired.  Only after years of visits did I realize that a piece of me remained until I returned.   It was a piece from my heart.  It was as much a gift to a man silently bidding me Godspeed as anything he kept.

  Each morning I get to watch as my wife leaves to work.  It is a fitting way to pay homage to someone I love and an opportunity to extend the moment.  I have seen my sons do it and their wives as well. 

  There are moments like that when people linger with their loved ones.  Mothers watch until their children are inside the school gate.  Young lovers walk backward as they part.  In a bygone era, teenage boys gazed longingly from the street until their dates entered their homes or until their bedroom lights turned on.  My carpooling friend John waits until my car starts before he drives off.  Just as that moment of caring makes me feel more secure, our loved ones watching us depart make us feel more loved. Our elders understand lingering far beyond our comprehension.

       Are there fifty ways to love your leaver?  Certainly, and many more, but I have no laundry list; you don’t need my advice.  Few things top a lingering hug and passionate kiss.  Adding “I love you” is an obvious exception.   If you are both leaving you could double the lingering but multiplying the passion might cause you both to be late for work.  Now you see why I am not quick to give advice.

  It is hard to leave sometimes, but in the anticipation of our return we find joy in leaving and joy in others’ departures anticipating their return.  My wife describes a childhood visit to her grandfather’s farm shortly after his wife died.  Her memory is of him standing at the gate in his hat and coveralls, pipe in one hand, and waving with the other as they drove off.  If we could read his mind, I would wager saddened and lonely he was anticipating their return.

Does absence make the heart grow fonder?  Maybe, but more so I think it is anticipation that warms our heart and hastens our return.  What is a comfortable three-day drive to visit my family, I complete in two days because the nearer I get the sooner I want to arrive.

If I were a man to give advice, I would say “No deposit, no return;” linger in life’s departures and be intentional in creating anticipation for the return.  Maybe it is time to start your list of “Fifty Ways to Love Your Leaver.”

Godspeed!