The Importance of Goodbyes

My dermatologist retired, I didn’t even know about it, and I’m sad.

Our modern society has streamlined a lot of things, made them more efficient. Especially in the healthcare system. I see this in the HMO medical care system where I am a member.

I always tell people that you need to know how to work the medical system and if you do, then you can get your needs better met. You almost must be your own primary care doctor.

I have learned how to do this fairly well.

And yet, things with my HMO can catch me by surprise. Is it because I am older, and I still expect things that may not be the standard anymore these days? Perhaps.

Is it because, even though I have a variety of specialists, that I still form relationships with them as I try to see the same doctor through the years?

So, when I called to make an appt with my dermatologist that I have been going to for years, I was saddened to find that he had retired. Glad for him, certainly. But sad for me. 

It was a time that I was looking for his reassurance. I have a spot on my skin that we have been watching through the years for any changes that might be of concern. I recently looked at it and thought perhaps that I saw some changes, but I’m not sure. I wanted to see this doctor, who has seen this spot for a long time, to get some answers. He would know if there was anything to worry about. He had history with me and with my spot. 

And now he is gone. 

And there is, I must admit, some sadness inside me that I didn’t get to say goodbye. That there was no notice given to what may have been his regular group of patients so that they would know that he was leaving and could then deal with this in whatever way that worked for them. 

I would have liked that. I saw photos of his children on the wall of his office. I watched these photos reflect them as they grew up, from small children to now young women making their way out into the world. This doctor and I would talk about how quickly time passes by. 

I trusted him with what felt like very vulnerable appointments. Baring myself to get my skin checked, moles checked. We were growing older together. He was familiar and comfortable for me to go and see.

Now I will make an appointment with a new doctor. And start all over again. 

I didn’t get to tell this now retired doctor that he made a difference for me. That he made something that is uncomfortable for me more bearable because of who he was and how he was with me. That he created a safe enough space for me where I could be vulnerable. 

I find myself reflecting on our society and how perhaps we don’t have the same goodbyes that we used to have. We don’t seem to always make space for the many feelings involved, both in forming and then having to end relationships. To honor and allow space for grief in all its forms and sizes. 

I can hear the voices within me telling me that I am being silly and sentimental. He was only my dermatologist. 

But he was someone who was a constant in my life that is now gone, that I didn’t get to have a ritual goodbye with. That I didn’t get to thank for all years of kindness and service. The years of brief moments of sharing our lives in the office. Brief snapshots in time. 

I think that goodbyes are important. I think that each goodbye, especially at my age, reminds me of all the goodbyes, both past and yet to come. I am noticing them more these days. I want to attend to them properly. 

Perhaps my reaction has to do with seeing many more goodbyes these days, as I continue this path of aging. Goodbyes become more familiar than hellos now. Endings become more noticed, more poignant, as I contemplate my own eventual ending.

Perhaps some of my reactions are about my own fear of slipping away one day and no one noticing. Not being able to say goodbye. Not being able to hear what connections with me may have meant to some others, what I may have meant. 

These days, more than ever, I appreciate the tender connections between humans that we all need and that can keep us going, especially on our worst days. 

An abrupt ending can catch me off guard. It can make me feel as if the connection was all in my head. Why was there not even a letter sent to all of his patients? It could even have been a form letter from the department informing any who might be interested in knowing about his leaving.

I want to honor that part of me that felt a connection and trust with another human being who had chosen a life of service and caring, whose dedication and warmth I got to feel, whose sense of humor I came to appreciate.

This experience helped me realize that I don’t want to underestimate the importance of any connections that I may have made in my own life. To understand that I may have had a bigger impact on someone than I realize. I want to leave space for any words or feelings that may need to be expressed. 

I want to pay attention to things that I need to say before I leave. Are there feelings and words inside me that need to come out? 

I think that this is one purpose that my writing serves. It helps me to let those feelings, thoughts, and words out, as well as to perhaps help another feel a bit less alone on this path of aging and life. 

 I am surprised at the intensity of my own reaction, I must admit, to this doctor retiring. Perhaps this is a testament to all that we experience so quickly in our lives these days and how we don’t often allow enough space or room for all the feelings that we have. 

So, I am allowing some space here. 

I would thank this doctor for his kindness and presence through the years. I would thank him for helping to make me feel more comfortable as I sometimes stood naked in front of him with my aging body, my shame and embarrassment slowly dissipating with his professional, matter of fact, and kind demeanor. 

I would thank him for having been a part of my life, however small and brief those moments were. They meant something to me. He meant something to me. 

I would wish him well as he continues his own path of aging. As he retires and now redefines himself in the world. As he walks along his path which will no longer intersect with mine. 

I want to remember to honor others and the connections we have made. To not discount that those connections may be deeper to them than I perhaps realize. To realize that I might have made even a small difference in someone’s life with something as simple as a smile and hello.

I want to remember to say things that I feel right then and there as much as possible, because you never know when this may be the last time that you see someone, for whatever reason. 

I want to remember to never underestimate the power of kindness and acknowledging that. In others and me. In all relationships. 

Maybe I made a difference in the woman who I smiled at in the grocery store today. Maybe I made a difference in the day of the familiar clerk who I stopped and talked with and whose name I make sure to remember and use. Maybe my talking with the check-out clerk at the store and sharing a resource with her about a shared issue will make a difference for her. 

Perhaps you are more important to those that you have contact with than you realize. Consider the possibility that they would feel some sadness if you weren’t around anymore. 

It’s not just family that we can be important to. There may be others who you may have touched more than you are aware of. Others who felt your kindness and caring and appreciated it, and looked forward to seeing you again. 

You might have made more of a difference than you realized.