It was a nice visit, somewhat formal - but then again, he's always been
a "nice, formal" kind of guy, a friend of
my parents
before he became a friend of mine, a close friend, as close as it's
possible to be without being
actual family,
and I love my time with him. I've known him for fifty three years, and
for longer than almost anyone I've known in these United States. I
spent my first night in America in his home in southern California
forty four years ago, visiting Disneyland in Anaheim with him the next
day. It's easy being with him. The slightly rigid formality of the
visit was quite charming as usual. Then it was time to leave. As I
stood up, he left the room to attend to something. That's when his wife
leaned over and said "The doctors give him about two months to live.".
Suddenly I was underwater, struggling to breathe.
When he returned to the room, our actual goodbye was also nice and
formal. Given the pandemic, we didn't shake hands or embrace. Nice and
formal goodbyes were par for the course with us. Then I left. I was
halfway
home
on the hour long drive down
the freeway
back to
my place,
when I said to myself "No! It can't end this way. That wasn't a worthy
goodbye. I'm not complete with it ending like this.". "Nice and
formal", however charming, had gotten in my way of a goodbye worthy of
our history and friendship, which is to say I had allowed
it to get in the way of a goodbye worthy of our history and friendship.
I resolved to correct that. I hadn't fully acknowledged him. I hadn't
completely thanked him. I'd said goodbye after the visit, but I hadn't
said the big goodbye. I knew I had to step over his nice,
formal ways to do this. I resolved to do exactly that, and to be
gracious about it, and to have him be
enrolled
in the process.
I called him at an opportune moment. I
shared
how I found out about his condition. I
shared
how I wasn't willing to let him go without him knowing how much I
appreciated him and what he had contributed to me, and I enumerated and
expanded on as many instances as I could recall which was almost all
(if not all) of them. I also
shared
a moment of regret I had in our relationship: in
his presence,
I was short with his son on an occasion when they visited
my home,
something which was uncalled for. I had, as a matter of fact, already
taken the time to apologize to his son for the
incident,
but I'd never apologized to my friend directly. That was now complete.
I expressed how he was
family
for me, having known him for so long. I
shared
how I said goodbye to
my own parents,
asking them the questions I'd never asked them, telling them what I'd
never told them, asking them to ask me the questions they'd never asked
me, and to tell me what they'd never told me. I miss
my parents.
But I neither grieved for nor mourned them. When we said goodbye, it
was complete. There was nothing else left to say. It's being incomplete
that hurts.
His tone had changed dramatically. He was suddenly
out-here
with me, fully
present.
The nice formality had dropped like a discarded cloak. He was open and
being with me with nothing in the way. He spoke of what it was like
confronting his own imminent demise. He said he would put into action
(as per
my sharing)
getting complete with his
family
in places where there was incompletion (I really liked that: he got
that from
my sharing;
he allowed me to contribute to him in that way). He
shared
the contributions he had made in life, especially those he wished he
had made more of. I countered with how his life had made a
massive contribution (so much so that he himself may not
have gotten the full scope of it). It had: he had been an example for
me and so many others in so many ways, of
an enlightened way of
being.
In getting my acknowledgement, he paused. I could tell he'd gained the
sense his life had made more of a difference than he'd given himself
credit for.
We were done. The whole space had shifted. There was nothing left to do
and nothing left to say. This was the place to stand and
say goodbye. This was complete. This was
the platform
from which to let go. Now it was easy and natural, as easy as watching
the wind blowing a page over in an opened book. I said "Remember: make
sure you take time to get it all complete for your
family
before you leave us. Don't burden them with anything they'll later wish
they'd asked you or told you, but you didn't have the time or the
courage to ask them to do, while you were still here.". "Thank You for
that" he said, "I'll do it.". "Goodbye" I said, "and Thank You!".
Then, with a smile in his voice which wasn't there at the end of our
original
visit, the phone clicked off, and he was gone. Now that
was a conversation worthy of our history and friendship. This time I
was complete with the way it ended. I knew, because I was complete
enough to say goodbye.