Thoughts on Being a Senior

The second conversation I recall from my time in high school occurred between two seniors, and took place in locker laden hallways, in the midst of the shuffle and bustle of students transitioning from one classroom to the next in between periods... or it might have occurred in the morning, just before first period had begun... whatever the case... a somewhat chaotic high school hallway was the setting. Two seniors conversed, and I — a junior — found myself in the midst of this two sided conversation.

This conversation must have occurred close to the beginning of the school year — August or September, I'm guessing. One of the seniors, almost giddy, asked the other, "Isn't it great being Seniors now?"; the question escaping his lips with a satisfied grin as he perused the other students traversing the hallways all about him. His fellow Senior paused for a moment then replied, "No... I miss the upperclassmen that have gone on to college. A good deal of my close friends are gone now."

I don't know what was said before or after that exchange, but the weight of those words still sits with me to this day. At the time, I placed myself firmly in the mindset of the individual missing the upperclassmen that were gone. I have not deviated from that stance all these years later.

I'll be turning 50 this year, and all of my grandparents have passed away. I know that there are no guarantees in life, but if things follow the natural order, my parents will pass on, and my brother and I will become the "upperclassmen" of our extended family, and of the much larger extended family of the human race. While I do love several members of these younger generations, I miss my grandparents. I miss the members of the human race that have made an impact in my life and have since passed on.

Pondering these souls that have completed their time on this earth and have departed, there's a compulsion within me to pass on the love they gave me freely and give it to the members of these younger generations. The mental image is one of a bucket brigade: several people in a line passing buckets of water from a water source to a fire in need of extinguishing. What would these younger generations know of love if they did not receive it from their elders?

Pondering this for a few moments, my mind naturally settles on a question: What is my source once all my elders are gone? I recently had a conversation with my brother in which I became choked up and my eyes welled with tears as I confessed to him, "I just want to go home." I further confessed to him that no place, nor person on earth felt like home to me anymore.

I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood. ~ Melissa Cox

I recall moments during my childhood, where I was surrounded by my extended family and I felt embraced. It was as if each person in the room was an embodiment of warmth and love. I felt accepted, seen, understood... I felt at home. I haven't felt that way in years.

My body is burning with the shame of not belonging ~ Warsan Shire

In my mind's eye, the setting of these conjurings of home more often than not is my grandparents house in Toccoa, Georgia. I consider my grandparents who were then the "seniors" of the family and I wonder to myself, "What was there source?" How did they constantly pour out love, warmth and support? Surely they looked to the "upperclassmen" who had passed on before them with a sense of longing and ever-present sorrow. Surely they looked back at a home in their distant past to which they could never return.

Perhaps the takeaway of these ramblings — these longings for home — is this: to be the home for those who have lost theirs, or who never even really had a home to begin with. To provide some warmth and belonging to those who never experienced that embrace before.

Pausing here, the thought occurs to me that one can potentially fill one's own cup by finding some purpose for one's own existence. And does it not follow that one can find some degree of purpose in loving those the universe has seen fit to place in one's own life?

Those who have a 'why' to live, can bear with almost any 'how'. ~ Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

I'm very much a person in the throes of attempting to find purpose and meaning in what feels like a quiet, fading, inconsequential life. Whatever insight or hope I've offered in the lines above, in truth, I've offered halfheartedly. I sometimes feel a mere moments away from despair. Having seen my daughter go off to college a couple of years ago, I'm struggling to find my "why" now. My daughter is an adult and has been removed from my life to a large degree. Why do I persist?

Perhaps my "why" for now lies in simply bearing witness to the sorrow I now experience. Oh my goodness it is a heavy, sweet, unyielding thing! This sorrow, now profoundly felt, compels me to look upon my fellow human being with a deep compassion. For who among us is spared such despair?

Indeed, this contemplation transforms the sorrow into a compassion for my fellow human being. Perhaps some purpose can be found in bring whatever qualities I brought (and still bring) to my relationship with my daughter — steadiness, curiosity, kindness, and presence — to wherever life places me. Could a "home" be built around such efforts?

"Isn't it great being Seniors now?", one upperclassmen inquired of the other. "No... I miss my friends who have gone on to college." In the same way, I miss the people I have lost who made an impact on my life. I miss "home" — feeling seen, accepted and understood. May I be a "home" to those in need of one.