Good-bye is a miracle

These past few weeks have been tough for me, so please forgive me for not replying to comments and not posting.

During this time, I have been exploring (somewhat against my will) the nature of good-byes.  Most recently, I said good-bye to a very toxic job.  I didn’t even realize how much it was affecting my emotional life until my friend told me, “I just want to see you happy.” I hadn’t known I was unhappy until that moment. I thought I had contained my unhappiness, letting it softly stew beneath the surface.  But apparently it was leaking out, slowly intoxicating everything in my environment.  I quit that job. And was so impressed at how much light-ness and color I saw around me.  I don’t like to quit, as a rule of thumb, but sometimes good-bye is necessary.

Not long before that, I lost my closest companion, my dog (see her picture under Adventuresome Inspiration).  She was suddenly mysteriously ill, something that happened and continued to progress in a matter of hours. Upon taking her to the vet, it was discovered that she had a very aggressive form of cancer.  I had to say good-bye.  I know people will try to justify that she was just a dog. But she wasn’t just a dog. She was my late night companion when my fibromyalgia hit and I couldn’t sleep.  Her company kept me from crying.  Her soft fur and loud tail reminded me that everything was going to be okay.  She was the first soul to fully accept me for my low days and rejoice in my great days with me. She gave me hope that no matter what, I wouldn’t ever have to be alone.

It was hard to see that good-bye as a miracle.

Like a lot of good-byes, it was incredibly difficult. How would tomorrow even happen without her in my life? It didn’t seem fair. How do you wake up one day so sick it’s life-altering?

But that’s what happened to me. And to Oz. And to a lot of people with diseases.

Another good-bye I’ve been wrestling with is the one that pertains to my pain.  Oz and I are determined to find something that can decrease my resting pain rate (and active pain rate too) in hopes of a more comfortable life. As always, it is difficult. I don’t want to live in pain- I don’t know anyone that does- but the actual understanding that it doesn’t have to be this bad is a radical concept to me. How would tomorrow even happen without immense physical pain in my life?

It’s scary. So my good-bye might not be as strong as I’d like it to be. But it is (or will hopefully be) a firm good-bye.

Because that is the thing about good-bye. It is a miracle for the next part of the journey. Without that farewell, I wouldn’t be able to look for a nourishing job. Without that farewell, I wouldn’t have room to love another furry companion.  Without that farewell, so much of my life would be changed (or worse, stay the same).

In 2011, I first went out with Oz. I was smitten and determined. I had him in my sights. My guns were blazing. He broke it off. (Probably due to the guns blazing AND having him in my sights. What a dangerous combination!) In reality, it was due to health complications and time-restrictions.  To translate that to female talk, he wasn’t ready. So I said good-bye to him in that moment. Kissed my daydreams and fervid hopes good-bye.  I set about improving myself and the world around me.

I am so glad I had the courage to let go and say good-bye. It would have been all to easy too get torn up about it, binge on ice cream, adopt a cat, and never pluck my eyebrows ever again. But I let go of the anger and sadness at the same moment I let go of him. Having the courage to let go allows good-bye to be a miracle. Allows life to heal and new roads appear.

While I know that the good-bye my pain is in for won’t be as flawless, I hope I have to courage to let go of the ‘could have been’ to see the ‘will be.’

Because that’s the miracle of good-bye.

It will be better.

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