For many, ‘bye’ is the hardest word

I cry at the end of “Cold Case.” I don’t know why exactly, but after the sad song cues and the detective with the bad hair smiles at the dead guy, it’s all over for me. Maybe it’s the music, typically a poignant song like Aimee Mann’s “Save Me” or Bruce Springsteen’s “One Step Up” that captures the essence of what the character lost. Or maybe it’s the closing montage, the series of scenes showing the dead character in happier times.

Or maybe it’s more personal, a touch of regret for the goodbyes I’ve already given and the goodbyes yet to come. And, as I’ve discovered after living in Los Angeles a few years, regret for the goodbyes I’ve gotten too late.

I call these “post-departure goodbyes.” In most cases it’s a voicemail or e-mail from a friend who’s already packed up and fled the city for good. Or worse, it’s a message left when the friend is just moments from leaving town -- typically at a time when the sender knows you won’t be around to receive it. Sort of a passive-aggressive “I care enough to tell you before I go, but not really.”

These hasty farewells are executed with secrecy, the departing friend never mentioning the impending exodus. In the last two years, I’ve been the victim of three post-departure goodbyes -- all from people I considered good friends.

Take Houston (names omitted to protect the guilty). Like me she’d moved here to seek her fortune as a screenwriter. We’d attended seminars together, been in the same writers’ groups, offered moral support over meals and coffee. And then one day I received this mass e-mail, a perky “Bye!” in the subject line: “Well, as I am prone to do, I’ve made a fairly rapid decision to move ... mainly for financial reasons. Hate prolonged good-byes ... I leave tomorrow morning, just decided Friday night, and will write with new contact info ... Look forward to staying in touch and seeing you soon!!”

Um, OK. Guess I’ll wait for the e-mail.

Then there’s San Diego, a former co-worker turned hiking buddy, who’d introduced me to his church. I received a somewhat formal voicemail from him on a recent Friday: “I am calling to let you know that I will be moving to San Diego. Today is my last day at [the firm]. This happened very quickly. I just decided to leave the firm about a week ago.... I hope that we can still keep in touch.”

Should I call? E-mail? Ask the important questions, or just voice peppy, unquestioning support?

This never happened back East, where I lived and worked for most of my life. There, departures were marked by parties, hugs and well-wishes. Here in L.A, not so much. In fact, I’ve never been to a farewell party here. Maybe that’s typical. People come and go as they seek their fortunes. Loose attachments, personal journeys. But as a single woman here, my friends have become my family, which makes it tougher when a member simply vanishes.

At first I took it personally. As one friend asked, “What did you do to those people?” But after reviewing the evidence, I don’t think it was me. These disappearing friends, all single, had come to Los Angeles seeking change. New careers. New romances. New opportunities. But they never quite found what they were seeking, and for whatever reason, I think they discovered they were no longer enjoying the journey. Sometimes a person may know it’s time to go, but it’s hard to articulate the reasons. Once the decision has been made, why complicate the choice by rehashing any doubts? Tied into this may be feelings of shame at not having accomplished what they came here to do. Leaving may look like failure. And who wants to talk about that?

So here’s my request. If you decide to leave and don’t want to discuss it, I won’t ask any questions. Just give me some warning so I can wish you well and let you know you showed more courage than many just by giving this city a shot.

And besides, with a little warning, maybe I’ll stop crying at “Cold Case.”

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Amy C. Balfour may be reached at weekend@latimes.com.