Whenever my children and I go on a trip, I scour my computer for the file titled "PackingList.pdf" and print out a copy. I set it on the kitchen counter a week before we go and I mentally tick off my list, occasionally adding things for the adventure, things like "birthday gifts" or "book for mom" or "chocolate."
The beginning of our trip is usually pretty smooth. If we fly to our destination, I get snacks and electronics ready for everyone in a special, easy to reach pouch. If we drive, I like to clean the car before we go, making sure we have enough leg room for my tall brood. As we journey to our destination, I have immense satisfaction in curbing their hunger pangs by flinging bags of Chex Mix or cut apples in their general direction.
The return trip from anywhere is an exercise in chaos. There are no "Return Home Packing List.pdf" files to refer to and our stuff has been deposited haphazardly around the hotel room or grandma's house or wherever we found ourselves. There are less healthy snacks. We find ourselves rummaging through the car to find *whatever* we can to eat and this week we returned home from Iowa eating stale Cheetos. They didn't crunch. My oldest daughter, in a fit of desperation, began to feel claustrophobic and began hucking clipboards and art supplies and trash at the feet of her sister just to get some breathing room. Understandably.
This year I have said a lot of hellos which have been glad and joyous and long and beautiful occasions. I have said a few goodbyes as well and if I were in fifth grade and had to write a "compare and contrast" essay regarding these two seasons, I would say this:
Generally speaking, it's more fun to say hello than goodbye.
The things you say during "goodbye" seem more enduring than the greetings you say at "hello."
The sentiments you say between "hello" and "goodbye" are important, too. Things like, "I love you" or "I'm sorry" or "My, you're lovely" or, my personal favorite, "Please pass the chocolate cake."
Some people don't know how to communicate to anyone because they haven't been given the tools. Or maybe they see it as a luxury. I don't see communication or emotions as a luxury; I see them as a necessity of living a life observed. I'm not interested in pretending things aren't happening, but then I'm not interested in sensationalism either. I might cry and it might be ugly and I might need a break from the intensity of it all, but communicating and emoting are not bad. They CAN be used in a bad way, but if the aim is to use your powers for good, that's a good direction in which to head.
I recently said goodbye to my dying grandmother, her hand squeezing mine fiercely as hot tears dripped off my face, using my free hand to quietly blow my nose so she wouldn't hear me crying. At first I felt ashamed for being so useless, for being so full of emotion and not being a strong rock for her. But when I let myself just cry, the rivers washed over me, onto her and held us together. A baptism of sorts.
My grandmother loved me. I know she did. That being said, she didn't come from an era where love was distributed in gushy sentiment. It was delivered in the form of letters describing peach pie and little cards and sometimes coupons which she clipped for me. She hugged me and smiled at me, but there was not a wealth of sentiment between us.
Some people are hurt by others who cannot communicate love in the way they understand it. This makes perfect sense. A father may be irritated by his adult son for not being able to live more frugally, while the son may be equally irked at the father for not seeing the efforts he puts into being a good father and husband.
I know a fair amount of people who are under the notion that people need to be left alone when they grieve. The idea is that they'll see you on the other side, as if you're going through an impenetrable tunnel, like the kind they have at carnivals, the ones with boats. "I can't be with you in the tunnel," is the logic, "but when you're free from the hurt and pain and ugly, I'll be there for you on the other side with a nice iced tea."
This does nothing for the heart. If anything it shrinks love. This produces a world of pain and abandonment issues. It would be better if the person bought their own ticket for the tunnel and followed their friend through, calling their name, getting wet from jumping out of the boat ride just to catch up; love would do that. Then they could both emerge from the tunnel with new vision and large hearts and very squishy sneakers.
I don't see people who need comforters who are perfect and polished and poised. People who are hurt need friends who will reach out, make the phone call, touch their hand and say things like, "I don't know what to say, but I'm here to listen. I might make mistakes, but I'm trying. How are you?"
The days of flimsy handshakes and brisk hugs are over for me. It's time for strong goodbyes. It's time to get messy. It's the new fashion trend: Tear-drop soaked shirts and snotty noses on shoulders. Looking someone closely in the face and saying, "I love you," coffee breath be damned.
I don't know a formula, per se, for communicating, but I will say this:
People appreciate when you try.
Just try.
Say the lovely things you need to say. Utter the hard things with truth and humility. Stay a while. It might not be pretty or be neatly wrapped with a bow on top, but at least you expressed love.
Say hello.
Choke out a goodbye.
Try.
