Goodbye

There have only been a few times in my life where I felt the unique sadness that comes with the thought that you will never see some one again.

Even if it's not even someone you're incredibly close to, just some one that fills up your days, it's sad to let them go. You lose the security of knowing that if you ever did want to talk to them, they would be there. The familiar faces you've come to know will soon be replaced by strange ones, ones that do not know you or your past. Most of the time, I consider this an exciting idea, but today, as I did many things that I've done for the past four years for the very last time, I couldn't help but feel fond of a sea of familiar faces.

I think I often under-appreciate the simple feeling of sitting in a room full of people that know you. They understand your quirks and your mannerisms, they know where you came from, and they know where you want to go. A room full of people bonded from similar experiences is truly a great thing.

And when you're about to leave it, it's so sad.

The first time I felt this, I was about eight, and I came home from school and sat down on the couch beside of my mom. She told me we were moving to Texas. I remember just crying and crying. By the time my tears had dried, Mom was on the phone in the kitchen. I got up and wrote lengthy notes to my two best friends, begging them not to move on and forget me. Of course we've long since forgotten each other; it was but first or second grade. While I only have a few vague memories of them, the sadness I felt while writing those notes remains sharp in my memory.

The next time, I was leaving the place I'd so dreaded moving to--Texas. Leaving was the hardest thing I'd ever done, and now (seven years later), it still ranks pretty high. I loved all those people so much and I still remember a lot of my time there, but again, the strongest memory is of writing a note. I was sitting in a classroom in my new town, fuming. I missed my old school and friends terribly, and hated the new one with a passion. We had some random free time, and I yanked a piece of notebook paper out and scribbled a furious note about how much I hated everything in Virginia to my Texas best friend. I remember the smell of the black pen's ink, all the strength it took to hold back my tears, and the relief I felt after I mailed it. I don't talk to her anymore, but the kind reply I received to that angry, angry letter carried me through the next few months in a place I hated.

More and more of these are coming to me as I type, and I just keep getting sadder and sadder, but still I write.

I remember the last time I saw another Texas best friend. This time, it was he who was moving. I ran to his house, the grass where I'd run so many times before worn into an oft-beaten path. He was sitting in the back of his moving truck, possessions piled high behind him. He threw a gift at me--a beanie baby cat that I still have. I don't remember the conversation we had, but I remember the realization that I would never see him again as that truck pulled out of view.

The most recent time I remember (excluding today) was the last day of middle school. While I wasn't truly going anywhere this time, I knew I'd be at a different high school than most of my classmates. It was kind of surreal walking to the bus after that final day. I remember looking around, walking alone, at all the people around me saying goodbye. Even though I didn't really love middle school, I was grieving for the familiarity of it all. The sea of familiar faces. There was nothing left to fear there, nothing unknown. While this a great comfort, it also means you have to get on that bus for the last time and pull away.

Now it's time for what is the greatest goodbye yet. While I know there's next year, I also know it won't be the same, and it's the loss of the familiarity and safety of my high school class that I grieve for. I hate counting life in "lasts" but it's simply unavoidable. I'll never be in that place again, and for that I'm horribly sad.

I may really suck at being sentimental, but I'm great at feeling sad.