Unexpected Goodbyes: Part of the Package

We all know the poem about friends who are there for a reason, a season or a lifetime – how often do we see it forwarded on emails? It’s something we relate to and instinctively understand.

Friendships in a global environment are made quickly, and personal information exchanged rapidly, because neither friend knows how long they will be around. Such friendships are intense, quickly established and vital to health and well-being in places far from home. They burn brightly, but their light is often dimmed when one or the other moves on. It is the nature of these friendships.

Yet in the pressure cooker of international life there are some friends whose value can be appreciated over time. Like you, they stay longer than the usual expat term, are semi-permanent fixtures. The friendship is able to develop gently, normally, as it would in ‘real life’. The slow-cooker friend, whose richness and flavour intensifies with the simmering.

They do not share themselves immediately, gradually revealing intimacies as the friendship matures. In time we share information about lives, families, hopes and fears. Sometimes we need their compassion, their strength and sound advice and they are there, ever giving. We hope we give an equal measure in return. Not because the friendship demands it, but because helping a real friend is something you do as naturally as breathing. The three things we humans find hardest to say are, I’m sorry, I need help and I love you. It’s not hard to say those words to this friend.

 Yesterday my slow-cooker friend broke the news she is leaving. Unexpected, out of the blue. In ten weeks. So little time for her to organise her life, to plan her leaving and goodbyes well.

Three of us sat over a cup of tea, two of us shell-shocked. Of course we were/ are supportive, excited on her behalf, thrilled at the new adventures she has to look forward to and want to be a part of that excitement. I’m amazed we managed to get through the afternoon without tears or drama, but it was not appropriate. Our friend needed our strength, our support, not our tears.

The tears have come today, quiet, heart-rending tears in the quiet of an empty house.

Another friendship a casualty of the life we have fallen into. Grief at the loss of a friendship, which will have to adjust to distance and time zones – Skype, Facebook and phone calls instead of shared rooms on girls weekends, a quick coffee on the spur of the moment, tea at the gym after a class (hers not mine). Discussing shared meals, recipes, family traumas. And laughter.

And it’s okay to have these moments. An acknowledgement of loss, of understanding that friendships and people matter to us, make us who we are. Sometimes the pain can be so intense it stops us reaching out again, not wanting to be hurt, not wanting to feel.

But that would be to devalue those important friendships, to have taken nothing from them. We owe it to those friends to remain open and giving, a testament to the friendship we’ve shared, a paying forward.

But it’s bloody hard.

With slow-cooker friends you’ve taken the time and patience to build something solid, and your heart is tricked into thinking they will be there forever. And they will be, but in a different way.

And there’s nothing wrong with taking some alone time to reflect on what what has been and mourn the loss, knowing on her final day they’ll be smiles and tears as we wave her off, with an appreciation of the time we’ve shared together in a country that’s not our home.

About wordgeyser

Our anglo/american family used to live in four countries (USA, Canada, UK and the Netherlands) on two continents, separated by distance, time zones, circumstance and cultures. It has been a scary, enriching, challenging place to be. The only things guaranteed to get us through were a sense of humour and the amazing people met along the way. . . This year everything changed with a move for us from the Netherlands, – and a move along with us for our son and his wife from the UK – to Houston, Texas, the same city as our daughter. With our youngest in Vancouver, Canada, we are now all living on the same continent. How this happened, and more importantly why, will be the subject of this ongoing blog...
This entry was posted in Expat Experiences, Family Life, Inspiration and Reflection, Personal challenges, Women and Female Related and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

21 Responses to Unexpected Goodbyes: Part of the Package

  1. What a beautiful post, and so true — having to say these kinds of “farewells” is one of the concessions I’ve had to make as I pursued new adventures and chose to live in new places. You capture that heartbreak so vividly — thank you!

  2. This is beautiful. I am crying and my tears barely allowed me to reach the end of your article. What you write is so true. I’m back in Holland for work and realize even more how much I miss my friends and my beautiful host country. Thank you for sharing your feelings and putting mine into words.

  3. mummigrants says:

    That is soooo beautiful! I felt every word!

  4. Maggie says:

    I remember there was a time when I didn’t want to make friends because it broke my heart when they moved on. Then I realised that each relationship brought an abundant richness to my life that I couldn’t deny. Now I enjoy each friend for however long we are in contact with each other. And on the plus side, I have a bed when I want it all over the world.

    • wordgeyser says:

      I so agree Maggie, but it’s taken a while to get to that place, as I think it does for everyone. Sometimes you yearn for friends that know your history, so you don’t have to go through the dance of getting to know people – how much of yourself to expose each time you meet someone new. Appreciate your insight!

  5. Jeremy Stocks says:

    Well written piece. I remember the intense friendships I made in Saudi in 1996 and tbh don’t make such deep friendships like that anymore as they all end sadly.

  6. You have tied the meaning of friendship up in a beautiful bow… so eloquently stated. I love the term “slow-cooker friend”. Simply beautiful, Jane!

  7. mummih says:

    Beautifully put …..

  8. Jon says:

    You sure said that well. Thanks.

  9. Beautifully written, I’ve got sympathy tears despite not knowing this person. I know how difficult this can be, and can only hope that the slow-cooking has sealed in the flavors of friendship so truly that the relationship continues despite the many miles in between. Lord knows I’ve relied on you; I’m looking forward to being there for you when the goodbyes come.

  10. So recognizable. I love that term–slow-cooker friends.

    • wordgeyser says:

      Thanks Barbara, the friend concerned is a great cook and it’s how I see her. Once you start it’s amazing how you can start seeing friends in culinary terms – fun too!

  11. barbara says:

    Jane ??? .. You write exactly how I feel about all this…… miss you …

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