There's Some Good in Goodbyes

and saying so is a luxury

I lost two homes this month: both of my parent’s offices.

Both of my parents are self-employed and have worked in their respective offices for over 30+ years. Last week, they both moved out of their long-term offices and into new spaces, which signifies a shift in both of their businesses. I’m excited for both of their new chapters, but I realized as I planned my next visit home that stopping by their office would mean visiting them somewhere new, not somewhere I knew.

I spent many childhood afternoons at these two distinct places filled with mindless and endless imagination; two personal kid caves in their own right.

At my dad’s office, I think about the who-knows-how-old chest of the prior year’s Halloween candy for incoming clients to grab, the fish tank that held little swimmers my dad never forgot to feed even on Christmas day, the low light of the kitchen compared to the brightly lit bathroom that I always used the third stall in.

At my mom’s office, I remember the brown wooden door that proudly displayed my name, my personal VHS player with the same three movies on repeat - Little Mermaid 2, *N Sync & Britney Spears: Your #1 Video Requests, and A New York Minute - the many chicken enchiladas eaten in the conference room, and the Reese’s pieces machine next door.

While I haven’t spent as much time there in my adult life, the comfort of both of these secret reprieves, I assumed, like all good things, would just always be there. And when comfort has made its home is right about the time change makes its move, doesn’t it?

Maybe they were just four walls (or eight to be exact), but they were physical places integrated into parts of my past that I never really said a final goodbye to. Life moved on and shifted into a new season, and it changed so under the radar that I didn’t realize what was being left behind until it was gone. With both of these office moves, it’s been a bittersweet reminder that nothing stays the same forever, neither my parents nor an office building, and that sometimes the chance to say goodbye passes before you know it.

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I also chose to leave a third home a few weeks ago, something I’m still processing and haven’t decided if I’ll get the chance to or need to say a proper goodbye. Whether it’s a slow drift or a formal closure, I’m not sure one version of goodbye is better than the other. Maybe one is softer, and one is harsher; one is more concrete, and one is more detached. Either way, I’ve realized that the ending of a story doesn’t change the beginning and the middle. The memories remain whether you say goodbye or not.

I wrote a piece about grief when my brother passed, and I remember equating it to a table in an empty room. As time goes on, you fill the room with other furniture and art and decor, and while the table doesn’t get any smaller, the life around it gets bigger and fuller. Life lately has been getting so big and full that I almost feel a little guilty of having so much decor and fullness in it. And in this abundance, this season of soft goodbyes has unexpectedly taken form in loud hellos. Grief has been welcomed by a multitude of new experiences, relationships, activities, and grand beginnings. The closure of chapters has been marked not by periods but by titles, the turning of pages. My eyes slowly opening to a wider, brighter world to see and explore. Not the lamenting of what was, but shining a light on what is and is to come.

This Year of the Snake shed so many layers of farewells in my life and those around me, and this upcoming Year of the Horse represents the freedom, perseverance, and vitality that I’m energized by from the good part of goodbye. I do believe in the goodness and importance of saying a final goodbye, but I’ve found that being good is really the final goodbye. It’s easier to let go of the past when you’re smiling from where you stand in the present. And I’ve been smiling more.