So long, farewell
“I’m thinking of canceling my last therapy session,” I mentioned to Joe.
“...why?” he asked.
“I just know that because it’s my last one, I’m going to have to say goodbye and I hate saying goodbye because it’s going to make me really upset and I just don’t have time for those feelings right now.”
Joe was quiet but his silence spoke volumes.
“I KNOW,” I said. “The reasons I’m feeling that way are exactly why I’m NOT going to cancel it. I’m just saying I want to.”
“I get it,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re listening to the logical part of you.”
“First time for everything.”
*****
I’ve always been terrible with goodbyes. With any change, really. I mean, maybe everyone is. I think some people thrive on change but most people have trouble. Before we moved to Washington, despite how excited I was about the new job and the new state and the BIG CHANGE, I cried about something every day. I’ve cried when I had to get rid of every car I’ve ever had. And don’t even get me started on when Heidi (my old roommate) and I moved in with our respective boyfriends after having lived together for four years. INCONSOLABLE.
This goodbye is no different, except the feelings are way more complicated than I’ve ever experienced. In a way, I’m far less stressed about this cross country move than the last one. I think my threshold for how much stress I can handle has increased, or I’m just permanently living in a state of stress nirvana. (Both?)
Before I left Ohio for Washington, a trip I was taking by myself, I had a panic attack as I was trying to plan the route. Joe found me sobbing and hyperventilating on the sofa, frantically Googling hotels. This time? We have a tentative route planned, with a couple of big stops, but mostly I’m like, “Drive east, got it,” and we’ll figure out the rest on the way.
It’s the emotional part that I’m having a harder time with. Mostly, when I start thinking about having to say goodbye to people, I’ve been pushing away any feelings or tears that start to pop up. There are just too many other things going on, you know? I can concentrate on the basics right now: eating, sleeping, showering, packing, prepping for doctor appointments. That’s about it. I know it’s probably not healthy to stop myself from feeling all those things, but I don’t feel bad about it because I literally cannot handle anything else on top of what’s already going on. So if I seem unemotional, cold, callous, or full of more sarcasm than usual when I’m saying goodbye, it’s not that I don’t care. It’s that I can’t handle anymore. We’re all set on emotions over here.
I told my therapist today (yes, I kept my appointment) that I warned Joe that a menty b (mental breakdown, for you cancer muggles) is likely on the horizon. We’re in Washington for another week and a half and I know the big, unavoidable feelings are coming. I won’t be able to hold them off forever. Will they hit as I meet friends for nature walks? Will they roll in as I explore low tide creatures with other nerdy companions? Will they overtake me as I say goodbye to my oncologist next week? (Spoiler alert: YES.) Will I be able to hold off until the day we leave, as we’re driving away from this place we’ve called home for the past five years? All of the above?
Only time will tell, but I'm leaning toward the latter because, as suspected, at the end of my last therapy appointment today, the feelings started to break through the wall I’ve been building over the course of the last few weeks. The burning behind my eyes let me know the tears were coming and, though I tried to hold them back, I was unsuccessful. I held it together long enough to say goodbye and thank my therapist for everything, then I closed my laptop and just…let it all out. I opened my door, still crying, and Joe asked if I was OK.
“Yeah,” I said, surely very convincing as I sobbed into my hands. “I broke the seal so now everything is coming out.” He just gave me a hug until the tears dissipated.
Goodbyes are awful, even small ones, which is why I’ve always preferred the Irish Goodbye at parties, where you quietly slip out the door without telling anyone. Part of me wants to do that in this situation. Just shout goodbye when we’re halfway across the country so I can have my breakdown in the sanctity of our car with only Joe to witness it, as God intended.
I don’t think that’s going to happen, though. So apologies to anyone in Western Washington for any flood warnings from the gallons of tears about to escape from my faceholes.
*****
For anyone interested in the actual logistics of our leaving and trip back to Ohio, and not just a catalog of my mental breakdowns, please see below.
We’re hoping to leave sometime the first weekend of February. This is dependent upon the weather, how I feel after chemo next week, and how much cleaning we might have to do before vacating our apartment.
We’re taking our sweet ass time to drive the 2300+ miles back to Ohio, and will be venturing south (very south) on our way in order to see some cool things we’ve never seen before.
I’m hoping to have enough energy to keep a journal of our shenanigans as we make our way east, so get ready! (Or don’t, because maybe I’ll be too tired WHO EVEN KNOWS ANYMORE.)
Our goal is to be back in Ohio sometime mid-February.
One more thing, and this is not related to the road trip, but I know some people are interested in my doctor/chemo appointment schedule. I will be honest that I sometimes get frustrated when people ask me about this, but it’s not your fault, it’s because my memory is SHITE now and I often don’t remember when the actual appointment is, so I get frustrated with myself. So, if you’re interested, I’m going to try to keep track of them here: Appointments. If you’re not interested, here’s a picture of a baby river otter:
