For example:

• Goodbye to the unborn daughter knowing you’ll never hear her laugh
• Goodbye to a nephew and a great niece who each lived less than a day
• Goodbye to the boy in 4th grade who flipped his bike, going through a plate glass window
• Goodbye to the star teen athlete with so much potential
• Goodbye to a son’s college roommate who died while working on his car
• Goodbye to a nephew in his mid-thirties who fought a valiant fight against health problems for much of his life
• Goodbye to my childhood babysitter and adopted “Mom”
• Goodbye to a dear friend’s mother who lost her battle with cancer
• Goodbye to an amazing man, a member of our congregation, who had been a prayer warrior for us
• Goodbye to my 100 year old Grandmother

Life is filled with hellos and good byes. Some goodbyes are harder than others. We say goodbye to people everyday. It could be something simple like, “Catch you tomorrow,” or something more difficult like, “I promise, we’ll see each other again.” Then there are goodbyes that are more “permanent”, the goodbyes that we say at a funeral. These are the ones I am thinking about today. And we must admit, that with them, some are harder than others.

I’ve attended two funerals in five weeks. The first, a little over a month ago, was my 100 year old Grandmother’s funeral. Although her death was not a shock, it was hard. She was an amazing, Godly woman who loved me. And I loved her. I lived with my mom when I met and began dating Mr. Gorgeous, but Grandma was the first person I told about my feelings for him. A few years later, she admitted that when she received my letter telling her about Mr. Gorgeous she began praying for him because she was confident he was going to be my husband. I always had great confidence in her prayers. I miss her. However, I would not call her back to this world for anything.

Last week, I attended a memorial service for a 17 year old, star athlete. He was an amazing young man. I taught him a few years ago. A gifted communicator, he wrote with amazing clarity. Relationships were his forte. He drew people to him and made them feel valued. As an 8th grader, he saw a few 6th grade girls who hadn’t been asked to dance at the fall dance — he and his buddy asked two of them to dance and these gentlemen got down on their knees to dance with these girls who had, until that moment, felt left out. Last year, he lead our football team to a state championship and he won a first place medal in high jump at the state track meet. Character. He was filled with character. He died as a result of a tragic accident and saying goodbye to him was hard.

Every loss causes pain. It is a risk that we take. Loving someone means we are risking pain. We love; we lose; we hurt. Yet, we risk that pain because loving someone and having that person be a part of our life is worth it. Each person we love enriches our life. Going through pain can cause us to grow. We can become stronger because we’ve experienced hurt.

Some goodbyes hurt less than others. Losing someone with a ton of potential is harder in many ways than losing a person who lived a long, full life. When we are confronted with these losses that are unexpected or that are painful, we wonder why. God can handle our questions. It’s okay to ask God why — it’s even okay to shout, “Why?” I wondered why our daughter didn’t get to be a part of our family. I asked God why. I was broken-hearted when our amazing nephew died and when my childhood babysitter passed away. I felt lost when our prayer warrior friend was no longer there to call for support, and now that I can no longer send my Grandmother a letter. I am confused why an amazing athlete with a strong testimony has gone home. And I wonder why. Yes, some goodbyes ARE harder than others.

I am grateful for these people and others to whom I have said goodbye. Their investment in my life, the hope they’ve brought to me, the dreams for a better tomorrow, the warmth and acceptance…the love. Caring for them — and being cared for BY them — was certainly worth the risk of loss. Definitely worth the reality of saying “goodbye”.