One of Those Goodbyes

This is a re-posting from a group I dearly love--but this is not a typical post for Carol, either. I hope it touches your heart.

One of THOSE Goodbyes


At first they were just another couple in the airport crowd. I hardly took notice of them. The next time they caught my eye though, something about it wasn’t quite right. I saw her leaning into his shoulder, heavily, almost as though he held her up while she pressed into his side, her face buried into his neck. That’s when I saw it. The military fatigues. Now I understood. This was one of those goodbyes.

The airlines allows families of departing soldiers to walk with them all the way to the gate. For all the security machinations we travelers endure–some of them seeming to border on the ridiculous, allowing this piece of humanity shows that the airlines sometimes gets it right.

She squeezes him tight one final time and lets him get into the boarding line. Then she waits. Wondering. Will he? Yes, he gives her one last turn-back-and-wave before disappearing into the tube that leads to the plane. As long as he might possibly turn back and see her, she holds herself upright. But the moment he is out of sight, I know it, because her shoulders drop and begin to heave. A large folded cloth comes out to press against her tears.

She moves quickly to the side and takes up a post at the massive glass window. From here she begins the stare, locking her gaze on the plane that will take away this man she clearly loves and carry him into harm’s way. In time, the accordion walls of the walkway fold up and the tube backs away from the plane. Suddenly she begins to pat her pockets. She fishes out a cell phone and starts texting. And receiving texts. Something makes her smile. Something makes her grow serious again.

A group of young men plop down behind me. It’s obvious from their chatter that they are recovering from days of golfing and more than a few hangovers. Good natured and occasionally off-colored ribbing is bandied back and forth. At another time, I’d have smiled at the fun they’ve clearly had. But today they seem immature…careless…even insensitive.

I sit and wait for my own boarding. In the meantime, the soldier’s plane has backed away and now inexplicably sits on the tarmac. It’s not moving. Neither is she. I’m not sure how she endures it. She is still standing, unwavering, occasionally texting, and staring at a plane that at this moment is holding her heart. Finally the pilots get the okay and the aircraft pulls away. She, as she must, watches till it’s gone. Finally, without fanfare, she turns to walk slowly from the terminal.

For the briefest of moments our eyes connect, but I look away instantly. I’m embarrassed. I’ve intruded. I have just witnessed a depth of intimacy that outstrips all the pathetic R-rated versions in a thousand movies.

On this Memorial Day weekend, when you have your barbeques, you gather with friends and you eventually say good bye when it’s over, breathe a quick little prayer of thanks that it’s not one of those goodbyes. And then, remember to say a fervant prayer for those for whom it is.

Carol Barnier

Grading in a Bubble Bath

Thursday evenings are probably my least favorite all week. Why, you may ask? The first reason is that they are not Friday nights, but they're so close that nothing I can do to dress them up even makes a dent. The second reason is that they're my only over-night turn-around for school (so grading and grading and grading is usually the theme for the night). Add to that the amazing amount of sleep I haven't had this week, and there are the makings of a very grouchy, tired, and *not fit for human company* me.

Enter my *Secret Sib* At Veritas, we do a staff-wide trade of names, and it's our job to encourage and treat the name we draw. I like to DO this: it's anonymous and caring and can be very fun. It can also be timely: like today. Today was the kind of day when things don't necessarily go all wrong, but nothing seems to go just right either. Too many students with excuses rather than homework, an achy-lupus day when going up the stairs made me want to cry, colleagues with projects laid out in weird places, too many non-VCA people in our building (maintenance and such), and then a water-interruption that meant taking a long break so we could all go across the pond and use a restroom.

At the end of this very long, not-so-lovely day, there was this pretty bag with my name on it. Inside this pretty bag was a new journal, a nice note, a small bar of ocean breeze soap, and an ocean breeze fizzy ball for the bath. Now, I cannot tell you the last time I actually took a long, hot bath--but there is definitely one in my near future. . . maybe I'll take the seventh graders' drafts in there and make this Thursday night a little bit better . . . :)