Goodbyes that Make us Human.

Yesterday I went with my mom and younger siblings to DesMoines to watch Andrew run in the Drake Relays. He ran fast. He did great. I'm so proud of him….

But that's not what sticks with me tonight. On the way home we visited my grandma in the nursing home. When we arrived, she had just been given her shower and was in her wheelchair. Her body no longer straightens, so her knees were tucked up to her chest and her arms crossed it. It was ironically like fetal position. I said hello and asked her if she remembered me. She nodded eventually.

I can't get past her eyes. She kept looking at me with wide and intentional and confused and desperate eyes. My mom said she feels like her mom's trying to memorize her face, so she always tries to smile. I feel like crying.

I don't know if I'll see my grandma again, honestly. I don't have another visit planned for this summer since I won't be in Iowa and I don't know how much longer she'll be on this earth. And I don't know if I'll see her again.

We drove past my grandparents old house on the way home. I was in a hurry to make a dinner meeting and my mom really wanted to get the kids home, but I asked her again if we could just drive past. We did. And with the sight of that small old house came a flood of memories. I remember so many fourth of July picnics in that yard and watching the fireworks from the high school parking lot right across the street. The playground up the road has been well used by this Gilbaugh girl, and I'm pretty sure I've left my fair share of blood and skin on those teeter-totters. We drove away too quickly, I'm sure. I didn't get to see the swing set where I tore my favorite summer dress when I was seven or the sandbox where I lost my friendship bracelet from Carolyn.

No, I don't know when I'll be back there. If ever. And that's a strange feeling, you know? As we drove away I craned my neck around to see the house one last time. I soaked it in, contemplating that it might be my last. And I thought…wait, this might be a real goodbye. I may never see this house again. It's not like these things are restored to us in heaven or that I'll be able to come back here when I have children of my own and show them the house where I learned to prune a raspberry bush.

And that's a funny thing about being human. We say goodbye. We part ways. We are the people for whom the words "the end" were originally penned. And right now I feel like I'm saying goodbye to a lot of things. A lot of friends are moving far away, my life at Moody has ended, many friends are stepping into marriages and I know our friendship will change, "home" is still "home" but it's different in many ways.

The funny thing about being human is that we end things. For good.

Goodbye.

But the thing about being human is that we live our lives in cycles. Ending and beginning. Finishing and starting again. I'm beginning a chapter of my life where I'm an adult, or at least they tell me that. I'm growing up, or at least I'm trying to. I'm venturing out into photography and writing in new ways I never thought I would have. I'm part of a church where I'm cherished and cared for and mentored. I'm listening and waiting and hoping and waiting some more.

The thing about being human is that we're always in motion. For good.

Hello.