A Time to Say Hello, and a Time to Say Good-bye
In the deep stillness of winter, I find myself contemplating the ultimate Good-bye—not as something morbid, but as meaningful work. Winter, with its bare trees and quiet hush, reminds us that endings are woven into the fabric of life. And for us, as well-seasoned women, saying goodbye is not a single event, but a skill we’re constantly invited to practice.
We say goodbye to seasons, belongings, roles, expectations, people we’ve loved, and even to each day as we surrender to sleep at night.
Some goodbyes are gentle—like clearing out a closet or waving to the neighbor carrying her last grocery bag inside. Others press deep into the marrow of who we are—like parting with a loved one, walking through divorce, or shedding an identity we once clung to like a lifeline.
Goodbyes are not only about loss. They are also about love, clarity, and permission. They ask us to notice what matters most, and to let go of what doesn’t.
So every now and then, I pause to ask myself a heavy-lifting, goodbye question:
How do I want to feel on the day I die?
Not how I want to be remembered (that’s largely out of my control), but how I want to feel. That question grounds me in the present and aligns me with what matters most.
It Grounds Me in the Present
Like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, recognizing our impact helps us fully experience today’s messy, beautiful reality. Showing up for life isn’t just a nice idea—it truly, deeply matters.
Even in the most ordinary moments, our presence ripples outward in ways we may never see. Gratitude, attention, and love—when practiced daily—transform the smallest interactions into something lasting. The smile you offer, the phone call you return, the meal you cook with intention—these become threads in the tapestry of a well-lived life.
At the end, perhaps it won’t be the grand gestures we hold most dear, but the quiet, everyday ways we chose to be awake, engaged, and connected.
It Aligns Me with What Matters Most
Think of Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Future. Facing his own death-day reality wasn’t about fear—it was the spark that gave him permission to live differently.
If I want to feel loved when my death-day comes, I must practice love right now, on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon.
If I want to feel at peace, I must create a life that nourishes peace now, not wait until “someday.”
When we live this way, clarity comes. Not in a rigid “five-year-plan” sort of way, but in the knowing that how we spend this one day, this one hour, this one breath—it all matters.
Practicing the Art of Goodbye
So, how do we practice? Here are a few ways that help me—and perhaps they’ll help you too:
Get curious. Are you overreacting to a simple goodbye because you’re tired or stretched thin? Or underreacting to a big goodbye because you’re avoiding the grief?
Be good to yourself. Let your body carry what your soul is working through—cry, rest, breathe, move, eat something nourishing.
Don’t rush it. Goodbyes often come in layers, like a dance—forward, back, and forward again.
Honor your wiring. Whether you process with words, tears, movement, or silence—there’s no wrong way.
Goodbyes remind us: we are wired for connection, for love, for presence. Which is why letting go is both so difficult and so important.
Fully Alive, Right Here
Ultimately, there is no right answer to the question, “How do I want to feel on the day I die?” But asking it leans us into truth:
"To everything there is a season… a time to say Hello, and a time to say Good-bye."
Yes, we’re all going to die. But we aren’t dead yet.
So let’s ask ourselves: How can I be more fully ALIVE in the time and season I’ve been given?
Because the gift of goodbye is that it wakes us up to say a wholehearted hello—to this day, this moment, this life.
✨ Your Turn:
What goodbye are you holding right now? And what hello might be waiting on the other side?
