Goodbye, in its' many forms

As nurses, we are supposed to master the art of saying goodbye. For we do it more often than most other professions. We meet a patient, care for them for 8-12 hours, and then at shift change we say goodbye. Not "see you later", because this may not be the case, but "goodbye". We are supposed to acknowledge that this brief encounter was only temporary, and keep ourselves separate from any "unprofessional attachment". I understand why this must be, but sometimes it's easier said than done. 

Now as travel nurses, we are coming to find that goodbyes are frequent not only at work, but in life. When an assignment ends we say goodbye to everything except each other, pack up our belongings, and head to the next place. And there we are expected to plug in, start fresh, invest in those around us - all while knowing that in a few months time we will start the goodbyes again. 

We say goodbye to friends,

to family,

to coworkers,

to cities,

to our dwelling places,

all the time.

A little over a week ago, we said goodbye to the most precious thing we've ever been responsible for. The goodbye that we never planned to say, that came much too soon, that utterly blindsided us. The loss has been overwhelmingly acute. And I have been wrestling with how to process it, to carry it, to live with it. I still don't have the words. But I know that I will never think a pet is "just a dog" ever again. But I digress; that grief is for another time.

Our assignment at Johns Hopkins is coming to a close this week. We are now preparing to say goodbye to the East Coast and all the people we cherish here - to my sister and brother-in-law in DC, and our dear friends scattered up north and in Baltimore. To call their presence in our lives a blessing would be an understatement. But the goodbye is so near, and we don't know when we will share our next meal or conversation or hug with them. It has been such a gift to share life with them all, and I wouldn't trade the experiences we've had out here, but I catch myself resenting the fact that it can't last. 

This is one of the hardest parts of what we have chosen to do. We are always leaving. And while I love the life we lead and the adventure we are on, I sometimes wonder why we put ourselves through it. 

Then I am reminded - by the Lord, by my husband, by those near and far who care about us - that there is a richness of life gained only by letting go. That I can't fully taste the sweetness of togetherness if I haven't felt the loneliness of separation. That I can only appreciate the gifts I've been given if they've been whittled down to what really matters. That, as cheesy as it sounds, I can only love truly once I've loved and lost. 

I am so thankful that most goodbyes in my life have been merely "see you later"s. And I am forever grateful for the people God has placed along the path we've journeyed thus far. In about a month that path will take us across an ocean, putting everyone we know and love further from reach than they've ever been. I pray that He would prepare our hearts for the many goodbyes we will make, and that He would keep us soft and open toward those He puts before us each day.