Hellos and Goodbyes

Heathrowactually

I just rewatched one of my favorite films, "Love, Actually."  The movie starts and ends London's Heathrow airport, showing actual footage of actual families and friends reuniting at the gate.  It's indescribable the joy on their faces, a glowing blend of "it's great to see you again" and "thank God and physics you made it here alive."

Each of these reunions is a big deal, a seminal moment in the participants' relationship.  What I thought of was how different life would be if it were always like that when somebody important enters our life. 

(As Rickie Lee Jones sang, "You never know when you're making a memory."  Big truth from the Duchess of Coolsville)

I've met literally tons of people, and it's rare that there's an instant epiphany: This person will become VERY important in my life!

My friend Abby was like that.  She was just the part-timer who came in at midnight, relieving me after my show three nights a week.  She was nice and all, but I got along with almost all the part-timers.  A couple years later, I performed her wedding.  She came to see me in the hospital when I was sick, even though I didn't remember the visit (thanks Dilaudid, bock-bock), and we still talk regularly.  She and her husband came to my birthday dinner this year, and I'm sure they'll be at Thanksgiving Dinner as well, same as every year.

It just seems to me that our initial meeting should've been bigger, more of an event. 

Even more important, though, are the goodbyes.  I wish I knew how many times I've ended a conversation with "I'll talk to you later," and meant it, even though that would be the last time I'd talk to that person.  Sometimes, it's no big deal: we'll reconnect later on Facebook or via e-mail, and we'll reassure each other that the last however many years haven't dampened our mutual affection.  Other times, that's it.  "I'll talk to you later" or "I'll see you later" is our friendship's valedictory.  "I'll see you later" turns into a year or two or three, and then POUF, that person dies.  I'm not saying I'd change anything–if it's your time to go, it's your time to go–but if I had that foreknowledge, maybe I'd say something a little more meaningful.  "I hope to see you again soon, but since that might not happen, I want to thank you for being my friend, and wish you much happiness during your remaining days."

A common Filipino birthday wish is "Nawa'y pagpalain ka ng Diyos ng marami pang kaarawan," or "May God bless you with many more birthdays to come." It's a pretty big wish, really.  I wish I'd said that to some friends whose last birthdays I celebrated.  Or forgot, for that matter.

I've seen the same thing here in Voxland.  What started out as a single comment on a single post has turned into a beautiful friendship.  This has happened multiple times, and I'm grateful.  Who knows when that one "[this is good]" will plant a rich relationship?

I understand that life isn't like that.  We can't see the playbook.  We're driving without road maps.  We meet people without having any idea how that relationship will play out.  If we could see the future, maybe we wouldn't worry so much about some things; maybe we'd pay more attention to others. 

Surprisingly, I'm not melancholy or anything.  I've been in a good mood the past few days, and I still am.  (Long weekends have that effect on me)  Just seeing the absolute joy in those little airport reunions made me wish every meeting could be like that.  It makes it special. 

But it would cease to be special if it were commonplace.  Over the past four years, I've learned not to take the people in my life for granted. I'm pretty good about that, even if I don't stand there holding up signs with their names on them.  I guess my regret is for those I've missed, those friends and family who have slipped away quietly.  It would be cool if I could go back and give them a big international departures gate-type send-off.  And maybe I'd wish them that God would bless them with many more birthdays to come. 

Happy Thursday, my friend.  May you have years and years of happy Thursdays to come.

There.  I said it. 

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