The Art of Farewell

By Jana Gillham

Do you struggle with releasing your loved ones to the unknown? A global pandemic has escalated farewells - to family members, friends, freedoms, health, even civility. Empathy and encouragement from a fellow traveler who has said more than her fair share of goodbyes and learned to move on with gratitude.  50 pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fat Soul Club
• Release date: May 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201830120

Jana Gillham

Jana Gillham spent her formative years in the Philippines, has been traveling ever since, and loves it. Her stories are inspired by musings on daily life. She eventually settled in Lexington, Kentucky where she enjoyed two decades in corporate training and communications, then leapt off into the world of consulting and writing. Jana is a co-founding member of the “eclectic” gospel band, Rahab’s Rope. www.rahabsropeband.com.  In their “spare” time she and husband Dan, also a musician, are building Bright Berry Farm. Connect with Jana at www.janagillham.com to inquire about speaking engagements, training needs and retreat leadership. To receive the occasional short essay in your inbox, follow her on Medium:  Jana Gillham – Medium

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Lexington, Kentucky

Introduction:  God Be W’ye

The sensation starts somewhere between my rib cage and small intestine. It’s the realization that the very short weekend is coming to an end and my long-legged lover is going to drive away in his red pickup truck—again. 

This cycle has been playing for weeks now and I keep thinking it is going to go away or get better, but it has not, and I’m guessing probably won’t.  To love much is to hurt much. Parting is such sweet sorrow, said Shakespeare’s Juliet.

We say good-bye so very often it becomes routine. See ya later honey, have a great day, rolls out repeatedly. Then suddenly a person, dream, job, well-loved pet, or community is gone. Forever.

Death is ever present. Maybe that is why good-bye actually began as God be with ye and shortened up into our casual vernacular over time.  Other languages capture the need to ward off the inevitable. Adios—to God.  Or Vaya con Dios—go with God. Au revoir and  Auf Viedersehn—until we see each other again.

Half a year of sending my husband away to his new job in another city reawakened me to the pain of farewell—one I have semi-successfully tried to squash most of my adult life.  Not long after he successfully passed muster and was permitted to work from home, COVID struck and anyone else who could work from home, all over the world, did.  This book was well under way and suddenly ALL of us were saying good-bye to life as we have known it. Farewells went on fast-forward—to jobs, family members, friends, freedoms, health, community, even civility. 

I qualify as a minor, if not major, expert on saying good-bye.  You do too.  How many times have you said good-bye to parents, friends, teachers, pets, places and dreams—because you had no other choice?  Or because you needed to move to what was next? Someone left. Sometimes it was you.

Letting Go may sound ethereal and grown up, but it cannot mask the wrenching ache and gaping hole left tattering in the wake of a loss.  Is there a good way to do it?  A way that respects your pain and helps heal the wounds?

My prayer is that this personal look at good-byes, fare thee wells and see ya laters (while keeping an eye out for hopes and hellos) resonates, settles in and does the work it was meant to do.

Peace!

Jana

Chapter 1: In Flight

Message on a Balloon

A shiny, red Mylar balloon flashed its way into our morning walk one early summer weekend. Star-shaped, it bobbed just above the weeds. Someone had sharpie-penned, Even though I am little knowing you I already hold you close in my heart.   (Forget the bad grammar.)  Was the would-be sweetheart snuggling up to a new love right this moment? Had the intended released the balloon in disdain?  Had we walked into a hello or a good-bye? 

Yes.  Farewelling is sharp in my mind these days.  Every Friday evening I happily greet my husband and every Sunday afternoon I bid him good-bye.  Again.  We are two months into his six-month contract.   This is not easy.

I am trying to learn some lessons about making it through the dreaded Stages of Departure:

Lunch is over. He leaves after lunch.

There is his bag by the door.

Here is some food to take with you.

Is it time to go already? Really?

Truck doors slam shut, the big engine growls, in a few seconds the red truck will be out of sight.

Time to pivot—and plant something.

It’s late spring/early summer.  Prime planting time.  Front yards all around sprout color and texture.  A Sunday afternoon dig in the dirt is a little treat I can look forward to.  It’s also a good time to call a friend or visit my parents who live just a short walk away. Knowing I will do some or all of these things directs focus beyond the immediate pain of separation.  It eases the transition.  Usually within a couple hours of departure, I have adjusted into life on my own mode (which while not preferred) is okay.

A wise friend once told me how people survive traumatic incidents.  Like they get

Reviews for The Art of Farewell

[Lynette Hill · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is a quiet, well-written memoir/Covid diary/inspirational musing on what it means to have a life well lived. The author's wonderful word pictures show the reader what it means to have the heritage of one country and the experience of growing up in another; how to handle aging parents with grace and kindness; and what it means to live in faith. My favourite quote from this book is a bit of advice I intend to heed: "Play Tupperware drums as often as you can!"