Goodbyes

“You’ve just been erased.”
~ Arnold Schwarzenegger, Eraser

I could write a memoir of past goodbyes – not all of them spoken or written.

Often, friends and loves slowly faded away, as if walking towards the sunset, maybe turning around a few times to wave hello or goodbye, but continuing their journey to somewhere else. An almost imperceptible withering of connection, incrementally turning down the volume day by day, until there was absolute silence – a switching off – leaving very little behind of themselves, other than my already eroding memories.

There were unanticipated exits as well. Sudden departures due to a change in circumstances. No warning, other than the terminal, loud bang to my heart, as if the door were slammed from behind, shutting me out in an instant, the weight of our previous years mounting no defense against change.

And of course, I’ve too often experienced the digital version of goodbye, comprised of a few quick clicks of the mouse, rendering me blocked and them locked, as if I’d been judged without a trial, reclassified and sentenced to the category of Internet trash – the most punishing, execution style form of goodbye. No appeal granted. Perpetual erasure.

However, the saddest version of goodbye is death, the unanticipated cessation of life – neither of us having planned to say goodbye so soon. Here today, gone tomorrow. Nothing remaining of them or us, other than a cold slab of stone with an inscription, as if it captures the essence of a person’s existence, with no mention of me, the one who still grieves.

© 2021 David M. Rubin. All rights reserved.