The Goodbye That I Will Never Say

The last time I heard her voice was January 10th, 2019. She had sent me an audio message, which was not unusual at all: that was the way we had been communicating for the past 3-4 years, since she got her first smartphone and installed an app that allowed us to keep in touch for free.

She apologized for not getting in touch at all that day. She had been looking after her great-grandson for the past week in the afternoons, and those were busy and delightful days. She enjoyed the company of the little boy, he made her feel younger and carefree. Those were good days.

Her last text message came later that same day, asking if I was already home from work. I didn't answer it at the time, I was busy in the kitchen. I replied a couple of hours later, but I will never know if she read it.

I arrived at my country of birth a few days before the last time I saw her. Catch a flight, stay up all night, catch another flight. Straight to the hospital. And there she was - or was she? I thought with myself, I should be fainting or screaming now, but no, I was surprisingly calm, not shocked by all the machines and tubes and wires. Perhaps I was numb? I leaned over her, kissed her face, said I was there because I wasn't getting any replies to my many messages. I am sure she didn't find it funny, neither did I, it was just something a friend told me to say.

I wanted to hug her, but it was impossible. So I kissed and kissed her face and her forehead over and over again, held her hand, touched her feet, straightened up the linen covering her imoveable body. I had hoped so much, I had prayed so much, had dreamed with the moment I'd see her and we'd hug and laugh, and tell stories, and cry a little, or a lot. She would take me to all the new places and stores in the city, the place where she used to have lunch, the coffee shop where everyday she'd have a "decaf espresso with a little milk". I would want to enjoy her company and perhaps talk about the many things that we had been talking over audios for the past few years, things that were difficult to talk about but made us feel real to each other.

Those were bittersweet days, being with family that I had missed so much, and at the same time saying goodbye a little everyday. The paradox of it all, I kept thinking, were nights where I slept through, not endlessly staring at the darkness echoing in my brain. No. Some strange and beautiful calmess filled my being, some strange peace. "And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus". I prayed for that peace. But I prayed for so much more. And I waited.

The dawn came, and I heard my name. Stared at my sister, and I knew: it was time. "Please let it hurt, please let it hurt", I said. And my little sister hugged me tight, because I was the weaker of the two of us.

Something didn't die inside of me that day. No. Instead, something dried up, such a strange feeling. Like the grass after several hot summer days, waiting for the rain that refuses to come. The conversations that never happened, the laughs that we never shared, the hug that I never got from the woman that carried me for a lifetime, her lifetime. I was - I AM! - her child.

And I will never say goodbye.