Hard Goodbyes

I've never been good at goodbyes.  Always emotional, I would typically cry on the last day of school when I said goodbye to my teachers.  I don't know how I'm going to get through the day tomorrow in one piece, for tomorrow I have to say goodbye to all the amazing people I've come to know here in this rehab unit, and move on to a skilled nursing facility.  

Last time I left here my sadness was subverted by my joy and excitement about going home, finally, and in time to share Christmas with my husband and children.  This time I have no such feelings of elation to ease the pain of separation: it feels like insurance politics are forcing me into a place where I have less hope of making significant progress towards standing and walking, and more chance of slowly deteriorating until they finally decide to send me home as an invalid.  That may not be how it goes there, but it's a lot harder to feel optimistic about my recovery there than it would be here.

And how do I say goodbye??  How to you hold it together while you say goodbye to the people who have bathed and comforted and soothed and encouraged and fought for you to get to where you are?  What words could express your gratitude to the people who held your hand while you grieved the loss of your job, or hugged you for no other reason than that they saw you feeling down, or took five minutes out of their busy day to make small talk and try to find something to say to make you laugh?  How do you leave behind the people who cheered your every little victory, who taught you how to set realistic goals and drove you gently but firmly until you reached them, who patiently worked through the delicate dance of balancing your many prescriptions and tests to keep you at optimum health so you could perform at your best?

I reckon I'll just say, "Thank you," and cry a lot. And hug a lot.  And then I'll start figuring out how to convince the folks at the new place to believe that I will get better, and persuade them to fight for me too, and prove to them that I'm not quitting until I can go home as a functioning wife and mother again.  I don't know what else to do.  Goonies never say die.