1994 – 2018
I am missing my Aunt Cely today.
You see, my family has a tradition about goodbyes. It’s a whole ritualized to-do called “The Wave.” Whenever we all got together at Granny’s hacienda in Mexico, guests would eventually need to leave to go back to their respective lives. Because there were always guests coming and going, people rarely left en masse, but rather trickled out in small groups according to their flight schedules. Anytime this happened, Granny would ensure that everyone was gathered for the ceremonial adieu. First there was the hugging, and the promises of visits soon. Next the parting party would clamber into their rented jeep and set off through the big iron gates and down the dusty dirt road. As they looked back through the rear window, they would see everyone waving, young family members sitting on the shoulders of older cousins. The Wave was enthusiastic and joyful, and we wouldn’t stop waving until the car had fully disappeared into a tiny speck and then curved out of sight. My mom adopted this ritual in my home growing up, and Aunt Cely instituted The Wave at our family vacation home in Maine.
It’s so hard to say goodbye to family. My family makes me think, makes me laugh, and helps me to be the very best version of myself. It does make the goodbye easier, though, if it’s a kind of celebration. If those you’re leaving behind are hooting and hollering, and you can picture them behind your eyes long after they’re out of sight.
I don’t know exactly where Aunt Cely’s next big trip is taking her. I don’t know if she’s able to look back over her shoulder as she leaves this lifetime. I do know that there’s a whole lot of us who are wishing her a Bon Voyage. I plan to keep waving for a good long time, even though we’re probably not in view any longer.
-Amie Rose