Life is full of Big Goodbyes.
When my oldest transitioned from daycare to kindergarten, there was a backyard party at the daycare to say goodbye. He had been at that home daycare since he was 16 months old, very well cared for and loved by the caregivers and other children. These were his first friends, who were practically family. And saying goodbye was emotional for all of us. As we reminisced and said thank you for all the years together, I felt a familiar pain in my chest. This was my son’s first Big Goodbye, and I knew it would not be his last. I still carry the ache of many Big Goodbyes from my own life.
Big Goodbyes are never easy. They are a part of life that happens over and over again.
We say goodbye to places, seasons of life, whole communities, and individual people with some regularity over the years. I’m a pretty sentimental person, so I hold these goodbyes pretty tenderly. Some goodbyes are for the best and bring about a sense of relief or freedom. Saying goodbye can feel fairly neutral sometimes too, or maybe a mix of feelings. Often, goodbyes mean saying hello to something new and exciting. Some goodbyes are not our choice—such as a death or a break-up, a layoff from a job or the sudden closure of a gathering place. Relationships and friendships may fade and fizzle, or worse—someone “ghosts” you without explanation. Sometimes these endings don’t really get a goodbye. Or maybe the goodbye feels messy and unresolved. Or you don’t really have closure because you don’t know if it’s a permanent goodbye or if you’ll one day go back to the way things once were.
There’s a psychological term for the pain associated with this called ambiguous loss. It usually applies to people dealing with the traumatic loss of someone without closure—such as a kidnapping or a missing person, or a likely death without physical evidence. It can also apply to grieving a loved one with dementia, mental illness, or another debilitating condition that fundamentally changes the person even though they are still alive. You grieve who they once were or what your relationship once was. Ambiguous loss can also apply to a change in circumstance or the loss of a dream or an envisioned future.
I first encountered this term when it was applied to the grief many feel about the Covid-19 pandemic. Not the loss of life, though that is a grief to bear too. But the loss of normalcy and the uncertainty of when—or if—things will ever return to how they used to be. We grieve the missed opportunities and the milestones and celebrations we didn’t get to have. We grieve the lost time with loved ones. We grieve the fractured relationships that resulted from painful division over how to respond to the pandemic and other political issues.
In an interview in January 2022 with NPR, author and retired therapist Pauline Boss said:
Ambiguous loss is a situation that's beyond human expectation. We know about death: It hurts, but we're accustomed to loved ones dying and having a funeral and the rituals. With ambiguous loss, there are no rituals; there are no customs. Society doesn't even acknowledge it. So the people who experience it are very isolated and alone, which makes it worse.
Ambiguity is hard. I don’t like it, though I’m trying to learn to at least tolerate it.
Maybe, we need to develop personal rituals for processing ambiguous loss or grieving Big Goodbyes. Maybe simply naming the pain we feel as grief is enough to move forward. It can be easy to downplay our own feelings, tell ourselves it shouldn’t matter this much or that we need to stop wallowing. But we need to be more gentle with ourselves. I know I do. It helps when a friend affirms your feelings when you share and tells you that you aren’t alone or aren’t unreasonable to feel the way you do. So maybe we should do ourselves a favor and be that kind, affirming voice to ourselves too.
I’m starting to think of Big Goodbyes in a similar way to autumn. Autumn brings an end to the casual vibrancy of social life, long daylit evenings, gardening, and warmth. Autumn ushers in a forced slowness and turning inward as the leaves turn, the evenings darken, and cold sets in. I do find beauty in winter, but every fall I mourn the loss of summer.
This poem by Maya Angelou captures this mood so well (even if it is still technically late September as I write this):
Late October
Carefully
the leaves of autumn
sprinkle down the tinny
sound of little dyings
and skies sated
of ruddy sunsets
of roseate dawns
roil ceaselessly in
cobweb greys and turn
to black
for comfort.
Only lovers
see the fall
a signal end to endings
a gruffish gesture alerting
those who will not be alarmed
that we begin to stop
in order simply
to begin
again.
Seasons change, people come and go, and we change too. Learning to live with loss and feelings of ambiguity is a hard journey, but one we all must take. Maybe once we realize what we’re experiencing is grief, it’ll be easier to accept things for what they are so we can move forward. If you’re going through a Big Goodbye or simply regretfully bidding farewell to summer, you are not alone. Saying goodbye is part of what it means to be human. And perhaps, like in the changing of the leaves, we can find beauty here too.
Onward,
—NK
It would mean so much to me if you would like this piece or leave a comment, so I know I’m not writing to an empty room. Either way, thank you for being here!
Going Deeper
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Related or referenced publications:
When facing loss, embrace change and don't force closure, a therapist urges (NPR, January 2022)
The Myth of Closure: Ambiguous Loss in a Time of Pandemic and Change by Pauline Boss
Unnamed pain: Coping with ambiguous loss (Mayo Clinic Health System)
Other pieces I’ve written, that relate to this topic:
Recommendations:
There are a few picture books that are my go-to gifts for children (or adults) who are experiencing something heartbreaking or going through a Big Goodbye. The first two are both by the same author-illustrator Cori Doerrfeld:
Goodbye, Friend! Hello, Friend!
And for processing the grief of the death of a loved one, always The Memory Box by Joanna Rowland, illustrated by Thea Baker:
As someone going through a big goodbye, I very much appreciated your post. Thank you!