Does anyone like goodbyes? They're awkward—the timing is almost never right, and no one has easy words to say. They're too often drawn out, prolonging the interim period of still here and gone. They make our eyes sting and our hands shake. I'm secretly hoping someone out there enjoys these moments, or at least is good at moving past them, because I'd like to pay this person to come to my graduation and do the hard work for me.
I have to say goodbye to the people I've met at college. Sure, our paths will cross later on, but by the time we reunite we won't be the same people. I have to say goodbye to my old titles: student, undergraduate tutor, volunteer. I'll say goodbye to my favorite coffee shop on the square, to the private rooms in the library where I wrote my senior thesis, to my favorite parking spot under the shade of the oak tree.
I'm leaving these things behind, but I'm leaving my university with more than I arrived with.
I get to keep my education. Even though having a BA in a humanities field can make me feel useless, even though I sometimes worry I'll only use my degree as a paperweight, I know I'll be able to transfer my knowledge and skills to other fields. Thanks to my education, I'm well read. I can think on my feet.
I get to keep my memories. Nostalgia will strike at unexpected times, I'm sure. I'll have days, post-graduation, when I look at my obsolete Brenau University badge and just want to crawl back in bed. Sadness might taint the memories for a while, but distance and time has a way of sweetening what you once thought was bitter. Later on, the memories might become precious, and I'll be able to reminisce in the context of a new life.
Thankfully for me, I went to college in my hometown, so I never really have to say goodbye. Anytime I have errands to run, I'll drive past old classrooms and the sculpture of our mascot: Lucille, the golden tiger. Thankfully for other Brenau women (and men) who don't call Gainesville home, no one ever has to say goodbye. With all our complex and long-standing traditions (see: May Day For Dummies), Brenau's alumnae have an array of opportunities and excuses to return to campus.
So the semester has come to an official, screeching halt. Classes at Brenau are over. To the seniors who have sat in their last lectures on our historic Gainesville campus, to the online students who have completed the final bits of coursework, and to the commuting students who no longer have to travel to Brenau's various campuses: chin up. You've come a long way. Saying goodbye to the place we love—the place that transformed us into the people we are today—may be bitter, but the future, created by our dedication and sacrifice, will be worth closing this chapter.
