For most of us, this is a time of beginning in our lives. Some of us are just beginning college, and even upperclassmen are beginning their years of adulthood, beginning to live alone and beginning to accept more freedom and responsibility.
We are encouraged to try new things, meet new people and develop new friendships. "It's normal to miss your family and friends from home," people might tell us, "but you'll see them again soon. They'll still be there when you get back."
With such advice, many people, myself included, tend to de-emphasize saying good-bye, failing to see its importance and assuming it unnecessary. Last Friday, however, I learned to reconsider this idea, to value the past and all its memories and to not take the future for granted.
On Friday, I said my first good-bye.
Taking a break from a tour of the northeast, my grandma, her brothers and their wives stopped in Hanover for a short visit. Though I love them all, I was most excited to visit with Uncle Bob.
I see him rarely and most often during somber times, generally funerals, but Bob and I have always gotten along really well, laughing at each other's jokes and showing genuine interest in each other. That just happens sometimes; people click and like each other, even if they're not real close.
I've always asked about Bob, interested in the candle shop he used to own, curious as to how his grandchildren were doing and just intrigued by life on the West Coast. And Bob has returned the kindness, often sending a "hello" to me through my grandma.
So I was excited to see him last week, a couple of years since the last funeral, especially in this time when I appreciate the familiar faces.
Our little group had fun. We ate lunch, walked around downtown and looked at my dorm. We talked about what they had seen so far on the tour and what was ahead for them, laughed at their tales and remembered stories from the last time we had seen each other.
Though I was the youngest by at least 50 years, I enjoyed laughing with them, and certainly didn't mind Grandma's shower of compliments, gifts and hugs.
Soon, however, it was time for them to move on, so we said the usual "talk to you later" and "see you soon." But when it was time for me to give Bob a hug, I had to choose my words carefully. None of those usual cliches would work, only the frightening "good-bye."
Bob was diagnosed with lung cancer earlier this year and told he had only several months left to live. That Friday was the last time I would see this man I have loved since early childhood. But that Friday was also a first for me; it was the first time I had ever said that overused expression in a truly meaningful way.
I never imagined the day would come when I'd know I was saying a final good-bye. As other loved ones have passed away, I have certainly wondered what I would have said differently, how much longer those last hugs would have lasted.
We don't usually receive the "luxury" I did on Friday but instead must see such farewells in hindsight. We don't know which good-byes will be final; thus, maybe we should make them all special enough to be the last. They say never to go away angrily, but perhaps we should take it a step farther and never even go away ordinarily.
Besides making me think about how to treat my good-byes, seeing Bob for the last time made me wonder what he has been thinking for the last few months. That was the last time he will ever see the leaves begin to change, the last time he'll feel the pleasant chill of those first autumn days.
Even I began to notice the simple beauty in nature (as trite as that may sound), and I am certainly not the outdoorsy type. I can only imagine the impact that final trip had on my grandma and her other brother, or the emotion Bob's wife will feel in the near future.
Bob's visit awakened me to a whole new side of life, to the world of endings as well as beginnings. He made me see the future in a more immediate sense, and made me appreciate the past and present just as much.
The sadness of death I felt last weekend, and am still feeling today, is now serving simultaneously as a gift of life.
