The Long Goodbye

Telling my students and their families that we were moving in the near future was not what I had imagined. I knew that they would be disappointed yet happy for Doug and I, which they were. I did not expect genuine hurt and sorrow. The week after I had told them all that we were leaving one of my students asked me how she would get her lessons from me after we moved. I was quiet (stunned, really). I gently told her that there would be no more lessons after I moved and that she could get a new teacher. She quietly took this in. The next lesson she was defiant and irritating. “What is the matter with you?” I wondered aloud. I figured it out after I left her house. She was hurt and probably a little angry that I was leaving.

An adult friend of mine was particularly down one day when we were talking about our move. She said “You’re excited, but it is really hard on those you’re leaving behind.”

I thought, “Back off. Don’t try to guilt me.” My defenses went up until I thought about it. She was right. I was leaving people behind. By choice. It was the right choice to make and they all supported us but that did not change the fact that I was leaving my friends behind. And that became the single most difficult aspect of this long goodbye that Doug and I had before us. I told the news of our move with a broad smile on my face, “He passed! We’re moving! We get to travel the world!” Translate “He passed! I’m leaving you! I’m getting out of here to see what else there is to see. I’ve had enough of this place!” And it was all true.

I love my students so I was careful to tell them that, although I was very excited, I knew that the sorrow of my leaving would set in at some point. I explained that all I could see immediately was the opportunity, the adventure the romance of it. I imagined that when I arrived to Falls Church and sat in that empty apartment and realized that I knew no one that I would miss not only teaching but miss my students as my friends. Many times I just wanted to get it over with, quit teaching, ready myself and the house and leave. The long goodbye was wearing.

I was tempted (not very, but I was) to have a t-shirt made with the answers to the most often asked questions. It would have had two words on it: it depends.

Where will you go? It depends on open posts, the desires of others and our desires (in that order).

When will you get to come home? It depends on the length of each post; usually two years but perhaps one or three and not a literal calendar year but approximate years.

What will you do while Doug works at the Embassy or Consulate? It depends on my grasp of the language. I hope to write and tell stories as well as learn the nation’s folktales. If we are posted in one of the south sea island embassies I’ll walk my legs lean on the beaches and learn to dance. If we are posted in Siberia I will prepare myself for a lifetime membership to AA. It depends.

Doug left Olup and Associates to come home and ready himself and the house for our move.

As far as readying the house, I (with the help of a dear neighbor – more on her later) worked in the kitchen, lower bathroom and the upstairs painting over the rental house white that was so cheap it came off if (and that’s a big if in our case) you wiped it with a wet cloth. Doug hired people to tuck point the house and trim dead branches from our trees.

If that sounds like the work distribution was a little uneven, it was not. Doug spent hours each day filling out the mounds of paperwork required by the State Department, researching and hiring a management company to rent our house, advertising various items of value to sell on Craig’s list - including my Jeep (sniff), going through the years of records he has meticulously kept for us to weed out what we no longer needed, and visiting his parents as he could. He did the brainy work; I did the busy work.

It was not a little discomforting to realize that we had been living in a house that would not meet basic rental standards and codes. What was the matter with us? How could we have lived without window coverings for 12 years? Why would we watch (and listen to) the plaster falling off the basement walls until you could practically see the bare earth and not do anything about it? How could we look at marked up, unpainted walls and deteriorating (otherwise gorgeous woodwork) every day and not pick up a paint brush, a piece of sandpaper or stripper or whatever and work a little bit? Anyone?

Here’s an idea for you. Pretend that you are going to move in four months. First, look around and get rid of what you don’t want to take with you. It feels good to donate and give things to charities and friends and you can make some money on Craig’s list and at Half-Price Books. Next, examine your house and make a list of repairs and polishes it needs. Do one thing everyday toward those repairs. It’s not that difficult. I’m sure the impetus of the impending move and the excitement over all the possibilities our futures held helped motivate us. I’m certain or we’d still be sitting in a curtainless house with black streaked, pop-splattered walls with holes between the outside bricks and only an occasional wall in the basement.

We came up with a new rule for ourselves during this time. Actually two. Let me step back a few years to our first such rule. Throw away any item of clothing that has a hole in it. Period. Except favorite work jeans. I will rationalize wearing anything torn or stained as long as the tear or stain is under my arm (just don’t lift my arms), under where my hair hangs (just don’t pin my hair up) or – for pants – under a long enough top that would cover it (just don’t lift my arms which would lift the top . . .) So we cleaned out our drawers and closets years ago ridding ourselves of all holey clothing. God bless us. In the process of purging for this move we made countless trips to St. Vincent de Paul with carfuls of goods.

First new rule: Do not keep or use any item that St. Vincent de Paul refuses to put on their shelves or even in their freebie box. How embarrassing. “What do you mean you won’t take this pan with half the Teflon worn off? I just cooked dinner in it last night! I’m still standing! Poison, bah.” Now, I will say that the interesting thing about St. Vincent de Paul standards is this: It seems that they will take any baby doll. I had some dolls that looked like they were horror movie props: one eye closed, hair half trimmed, naked and written on – even one with a stuffed body though they won’t take stuffed animals. Go figure.

The other new rule is, for decency’s sake, don’t live in a house that won’t even meet standard rental codes. We all deserve better than that.

Emotionally things did not relax for long when we learned that he was approved. There was always something else to wait for; something else dependant on something else and on and on. As with any job, there is a salary range for newbies into the Foreign Service. One possibility is a salary match (to certain degree, I’m sure) to your previous job if you are employed full-time within 30 days of the start of your training. While we wanted to get going, say our goodbyes and move on to our new lives, we had a lot of work to do to prepare. And while we needed more time, Doug was no longer employed full time and needed to get to that September training. I was quite anxious. Doug had already taken a significant pay cut working for Olup and we didn’t want that to happen again coupled with the fact that I would not be working at all. So as not to appear to be lazy here, we knew that our time in Washington D.C. would last anywhere from apx. four to eleven months so my taking on work under such uncertain circumstances was not practical.

So, where was I? Oh, yes I was feeling anxious. I try to be careful abut what I present to God in prayer; not too selfish (oh, Lord won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz), not too unrealistic (world peace). So when I prayed that Doug would get called to the September training to he could get the salary match I felt I was wasting my time and God’s. At first I thought I was being selfish, then I realized it was different. Here I sat before the Lord worried about money. After all Doug and I had recently been through I was worried about money. I laughed. As Bill Cosby said to the Lord as Noah, “Right.” I relaxed again.