Gradually the number of cars in the parking lot is outnumbered by the empty spaces.
Goodbyes are said and hugs given.
With trunks brimming and rear view mirrors blocked by boxes and bags, the first, second, third, last year of college ends.
It almost seems unfitting that everything should be coming to life again just as we depart.
It’s hardly the end, maybe not even a beginning, but there is a shift. We go home or move into new houses changed. Maybe not as much as we expected, maybe more. You can’t help but change.
The last anti-climactic change I remember was the shift from private school to homeschool after 7th grade. I wonder when I developed such an aversion to it. I want to hold all my experiences in cupped hands and carry them everywhere I go.
I save magazines, stuffed animals, receipts, school work, friends, and memories.
Maybe it’s not change I am afraid of so much as it is loss.