Praying Our Good-byes

When Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs’ boat blew up, it appeared that Mark Harmon’s days on NCIS were over. On Chicago Fire, Matt Casey is moving west to become the surrogate parent for the sons of a deceased colleague, leaving Sylvie Brett behind in the Windy City, just as he had been left behind when a previous girlfriend left the show. Viewers on New Amsterdam have been teased for weeks surrounding the imminent departure of Dr. Max Goodwin and his current flame, Dr. Helen Sharpe, as they prepare to leave for London. Can the iconic Big Apple hospital survive without its passionate and impulsive medical director? If Max goes, who will shepherd it through its next disaster? And what will NCIS be like without Gibbs?

 

When actors wants to leave their long-running roles on a television series, the writers are charged with developing an exit plan. Death is the easiest option, a standard on the soap opera circuit for many years, so viewers can grieve the loss of their favorite heroes and villains. When Eddie LeBec (Cheers) got run over by a Zamboni while working at an ice rink, that was pretty final. And who can forget the scene from M*A*S*H when Lt. Colonel Henry Blake’s plane was shot down after his retirement send-off from the 4077^th?

 

There are other possibilities, of course. In a previous NCIS season, Tony moved away to raise his daughter with Ziva, teasing of a possible reunion at some time in the future. And even Gibbs’ departure doesn’t seem fully final. As NCIS showrunner Steven Binder tells us, “So regarding the future of Gibbs, as long-time fans of the show may have noticed over the years… never count Leroy Jethro Gibbs out.” 

 

In our real lives, we are not exempt from painful good-byes. Like Charles Schulz, we ‘re not pleased when they occur. “Why can’t we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn’t work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say goodbye. I hate goodbyes. I know what I need. I need more hellos.” Yet even with more ‘hellos,’ we still wrestle with the many good-byes that find their way to our doorstep, to our heart. 

 

When our personal experience is one of shock, such as when Colonel Blake’s plane was shot down, the immediate grief seems unbearable. We muddle our way through Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief, as we deny, become angry, bargain, sink into depression, and ultimately struggle to some form of acceptance, maybe. But even when there is a long farewell, such as weeks in the COVID-riddled ICU or the insidiously slow march of Alzheimer’s or ALS, the grief is still there, often unexpected in its ferocity.  

 

While death is the ultimate good-bye, it is not the only one. When our own Leroy Jethro Gibbs moves to Alaska, we vow to stay in touch, but our hearts break. Writing in “Praying Our Good-byes,” Joyce Rupp helps us to move from the why of departure to the how, asking, “How can I move gracefully through the ache of the farewells that come into my life?” For as emotionally distant as Gibbs appears to be throughout his stint on NCIS, his farewell episode is one I will watch again, as he shares his good-byes with his friends, even when they don’t know it’s a good-bye.

 

Writer Anna Quindlen understands about loss: “Maybe we do not speak of it, because death will mark all of us, sooner or later. Or maybe it is unspoken because grief is only the first part of it. After a time it becomes something less sharp but larger, too, a more enduring thing called loss. . .  it comes as a great surprise to find that loss is forever, that two decades after the event there are those occasions when something in you cries out at the continuous presence of an absence.” 

As she does so well, Anne Lamott provides us with an image to hold: “You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with a limp.”

As we feel the continuous presence of an absence, as autumn temperatures awaken the ache, might Rupp’s words bring hope. “The word goodbye — originally ‘God-be-with-ye’ or ‘Go-with-God’ — was a recognition that God was a significant part of the going. When you dreaded or feared the journey there was strength in remembering that the One who gave and cherished life would be there to protect and to console. Goodbye was a blessing of love, proclaiming the belief that if God went with you, you would never be alone, that comfort, strength, and all the other blessings of a loving presence would accompany you.” Amen.