The Last Farewell

I've been thinking a lot about Elon today, and what I've left and what I've started.

With those thoughts on my mind, I stumbled across this column I wrote during my freshman year of college. It's a little long, but now that the time which I wrote about has passed, and is passing, it seemed appropriate to visit it again.

The Last Farewell

“Fare thee well/ My own true love/ Farewell for a while/ I’m going away But I’ll be back/ Though I go 10,000 miles”
-Mary Chapin Carpenter, 10,000 Miles

I hate goodbyes. Leaving home this past August and moving to college signaled a great change in my life. I went from a total semi-parasitic dependent to a somewhat independent young adult. And in the process of gaining this great title of young adult, I lost the certainty of my past. I no longer have the safety net of home, at least not how it used to be.

When I went home for fall break I was shocked. My Waffle House, the one I had spent countless hours sitting and chatting in, the one I read in, the one I would eat pecan pie in at 1 in the morning, was nothing but a pile of old crumbled ruble. That place was like my comfort zone.

Upon arriving at college, many of my new friends had never heard of Waffle house. If they had, they hadn’t eaten there. They would ask me “don’t they only serve breakfast there” or “isn’t it closed” when I would ask if they would accompany me at 1:30 am to the nearest yellow and brown house. “Ignorance can be cured, stupidity is forever.” The immortal words of my father echoed in my head. All they needed was to be introduced to the Waffle House experience.

In my high school days, Waffle House, or Wa Ho as we called it was just another part of growing up—like nightly homework or daily practice. There were three waffle houses within a mile of my school—all three on the same road, Virginia Avenue

I suppose that some of my readers don’t understand my connection with this place; I guess that can have the best guess at how I feel about this restaurant are my fellow Atlantans. This is where I came upon the “great teenage revelations.” It was here that one of my best friends brought her fiancé the night before the wedding to hang out. It was here that I said many goodbyes.

And where did all those memories go? Sure I have a menu from the eatery that a waitress gave me once, and I can order my hash browns the same way at any Waffle House, but will it be the same? No, it never will.

That’s what makes me the saddest about leaving home. It’s not so much missing my family and friends as it is missing me. Missing the way I and life used to be. I may be able to fly back to Atlanta, but I won’t get to light the Jack-o-lanterns each night or help to decorate the house for Valentine’s Day or even do something as simple as feed the dogs.

This past May, I gave a speech to my church. One of my goals was to figure out exactly how to bid the congregation and this place I had grown up in goodbye. I tried. I couldn’t.

Instead I thought of an old family friend, whom, when one left a visit, would not allow you to say goodbye. You would have to say “I love you.” That’s what I told my church. But I can’t do that with my past. I can go back to that church. I can’t live in my past. I feel almost like I have lost a home.

And that is why I am dreading my last farewell in May of 2007. I don’t want to loose this home too. I’ll say it. I’m scared. And any person who claims they aren’t just a tiny bit worried is lying—even those graduating in may this year.

I’m sure it’s completely natural to have these fears. But it’s more than just fear. It’s disappointment as well. There is so much hype that leads up to a graduation. You wait excitedly for the appointed day. Finally, it arrives, and you walk up that stage, grab your paper that makes you king of the world for 2.3 seconds, then its over. You just spent so much of your life working towards that sheet of paper and in under three seconds, it is finished. All the reading, writing, studying, worrying, and sleepless nights were for one sheet of paper and three seconds.

Granted this piece of paper hold the key to success further down the road, there is some sort of let down that is involved.

When I received my high school diploma, it was the end of an era for me. I had attended this particular school for fourteen out of my eighteen years. As I reached my hand out for that single certificate I shut a door on the life I had known for over a decade. I put the final stamp on my career as a highschooler and it was the beginning of having to move on with my life.
My Scoutmaster, with whom I worked closely during past summers at a summer camp and who graduated from the same school, probably put it the best. He said that “when you leave, its like having a door slam shut behind you. You can’t go back.” That is so hard to hear sometimes. What if I want to go back? I can’t just hit the back button on my internet web browser or retype the address into the address bar.

I do miss high school. I miss having friends that I saw daily, but could easily get away from by retreating home. I miss my mother’s hugs and my dad’s jokes.

But now I am at college and meeting fantastic, loving, fascinating people. The bottom line is that I am having the time of my life. But deep within me, I know its all going to end…again. I will have a new family and then I will be forced to say goodbye one more time.

Friends remind me that I have four years (well, a little over three now). That is just it, I have four years. I only have four years to make friends, to live college, to have fun before I have to grow up for good.

It’s a harsh reality. One that is not fun in the making. You might say that life is full of goodbyes, that there never really is a last farewell. Fine. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to look forward to them.
To all those who are counting down the days until you bid Elon farewell, just remember my old friend--the one who wouldn’t let you say good bye, only “I love you.”