I have been thinking of the tenderness of good-byes. Most of the time, we don’t know the significance of departures — bye-bye, see ya later — but some are weightier. I remember my own heart-full and achy farewells to each of my children after settling them into dorm rooms for their first year of college. I blink back tears when I leave my mom after a visit. The rituals and meaning of good-byes matter and keep us connected, as did my dad’s words to me. Earlier this year, I held my aunty’s hand in her final moments and felt her warm, firm presence in my life even as she was leaving.

Each night at the hospital was another departure.

Setting up the bedside table, with the phone close,

the water, the glasses, I stalled a little, reluctant to

leave.  At last, I leaned over, kissed Dad.  He hugged

back and kissed my forehead with a deep inhalation,

taking in everything about me in that one breath,

just as he used to, tucking me in at night.

“Be good,” he said, as he always said.

“Be a good girl,” he said when it was time to

leave after bringing me to college for the first

time.  The dorm room was bleak with cinder

block walls and hard furniture.  My parents

had helped me carry suitcases and boxes up

the stairs.  I knew that inside one of those

boxes was a colorful bedspread.  Somewhere

there were posters and framed pictures.  But

at that moment, I felt lonely.  “I will,”

I answered softly.  This was a new life,

a different world, and suddenly I did not

feel at all ready.  But they left me anyway.

I watched them from my window, my eyes

blurry and blinking, as they walked away

along the sidewalk below.