My famous last words
Are laying around in tatters,
Sounding absurd, whatever I try.
But I love you,
And that’s all that really matters.
If this is goodbye, if this is goodbye…
It has been a string of goodbyes lately, up on the hill. There’s the end of the lilies, a few colorful blossoms left amidst the yellowing leaves. They look a little forlorn, all their bright raiment surrounded by tattered foliage. But they’re not such good cut flowers—they only last a day, and they spill pollen all over the table tops and mantle—so we leave them where they stand, and say goodbye to another growing season.
Your bright shining sun
Would light up the way before me.
You were the one made me feel I could fly.
And I love you,
Whatever is waiting for me.
If this is goodbye, if this is goodbye…
The summer really winds up right about now, too. We wave goodbye to the quiet, student-less halls at work and ready our classrooms—and nerves—for the return of children. We’ve given up on the idea that we’ll take a ride to the Country Market in Ligonier some Saturday morning, or maybe a long weekend at the Jersey Shore. The time for those sorts of forays is over for another year. It’s back to business. Nose to the grindstone. No more late-night sunsets, viewed from the porch, glass of wine in hand. Even the sun seems to have returned to a more workaday schedule, turning in earlier and earlier each evening.
Who knows how long we’ve got,
Or what we are made of?
Who knows if there’s a plan or not?
But there is our love.
I know there is our love.
These sorts of goodbyes are easy, though. They have built-in hellos—we know that Back-to-School means Christmas is just around the corner. After that, it’s a bit of a slog through some dicey weather, that’s true. But soon enough, frozen brown gives way to fertile green, and we’ve started the whole song over again: lilies and Saturday drives, plans for the beach and sunset glasses of wine.
There are other goodbyes we’ve been making lately that are much harder. They’re the kind that the calendar can’t erase. No built-in hellos. While hard, these goodbyes are still happy, however. We have neighbors moving on to the next phase in their lives—exciting, adventure-filled phases in new homes. We’re sad to lose their presence on our little street and the sense of history that only long-time residents of a place can impart—sad to lose chance meetings in a doorway or at a mailbox. But happy for them, escaping the burdens and drudgery that come with being responsible for keeping up a home. And “we’ll be back,” they tell us. “We’re moving not so far away,” they say. So, while hard, these goodbyes are happy ones. Well, bittersweet rather than happy, truth be told. Fare thee well, friends.
My famous last words
Could never tell our story,
Spinning unheard in the dark of the sky.
But I love you,
And this is our glory.
If this is goodbye, if this is goodbye…
But there’s also been a hard goodbye that isn’t a happy one, or even bittersweet. We’ve lost a neighbor on our little street who hasn’t moved “not so far away”. And she won’t be back for visits. She slipped away from us—just slipped away—leaving us looking down at our empty hands, thinking, “Wait, I was just holding you.” Thinking, “I just heard you laugh.” Thinking, “You mean so much to us.” Blowing us kisses goodbye one day, then gone from us the next.
We study the dear one she left behind, and have to clench our hearts together, so that they don’t fly off in a million broken pieces. He, too, looks down at his empty hands, and we hear his unspoken thoughts—“I was just holding you. I love you. Goodbye.”
If This Is Goodbye
Mark Knopfler, English songwriter
(1949-present)
Are laying around in tatters,
Sounding absurd, whatever I try.
But I love you,
And that’s all that really matters.
If this is goodbye, if this is goodbye…
It has been a string of goodbyes lately, up on the hill. There’s the end of the lilies, a few colorful blossoms left amidst the yellowing leaves. They look a little forlorn, all their bright raiment surrounded by tattered foliage. But they’re not such good cut flowers—they only last a day, and they spill pollen all over the table tops and mantle—so we leave them where they stand, and say goodbye to another growing season.
Your bright shining sun
Would light up the way before me.
You were the one made me feel I could fly.
And I love you,
Whatever is waiting for me.
If this is goodbye, if this is goodbye…
The summer really winds up right about now, too. We wave goodbye to the quiet, student-less halls at work and ready our classrooms—and nerves—for the return of children. We’ve given up on the idea that we’ll take a ride to the Country Market in Ligonier some Saturday morning, or maybe a long weekend at the Jersey Shore. The time for those sorts of forays is over for another year. It’s back to business. Nose to the grindstone. No more late-night sunsets, viewed from the porch, glass of wine in hand. Even the sun seems to have returned to a more workaday schedule, turning in earlier and earlier each evening.
Who knows how long we’ve got,
Or what we are made of?
Who knows if there’s a plan or not?
But there is our love.
I know there is our love.
These sorts of goodbyes are easy, though. They have built-in hellos—we know that Back-to-School means Christmas is just around the corner. After that, it’s a bit of a slog through some dicey weather, that’s true. But soon enough, frozen brown gives way to fertile green, and we’ve started the whole song over again: lilies and Saturday drives, plans for the beach and sunset glasses of wine.
There are other goodbyes we’ve been making lately that are much harder. They’re the kind that the calendar can’t erase. No built-in hellos. While hard, these goodbyes are still happy, however. We have neighbors moving on to the next phase in their lives—exciting, adventure-filled phases in new homes. We’re sad to lose their presence on our little street and the sense of history that only long-time residents of a place can impart—sad to lose chance meetings in a doorway or at a mailbox. But happy for them, escaping the burdens and drudgery that come with being responsible for keeping up a home. And “we’ll be back,” they tell us. “We’re moving not so far away,” they say. So, while hard, these goodbyes are happy ones. Well, bittersweet rather than happy, truth be told. Fare thee well, friends.
My famous last words
Could never tell our story,
Spinning unheard in the dark of the sky.
But I love you,
And this is our glory.
If this is goodbye, if this is goodbye…
But there’s also been a hard goodbye that isn’t a happy one, or even bittersweet. We’ve lost a neighbor on our little street who hasn’t moved “not so far away”. And she won’t be back for visits. She slipped away from us—just slipped away—leaving us looking down at our empty hands, thinking, “Wait, I was just holding you.” Thinking, “I just heard you laugh.” Thinking, “You mean so much to us.” Blowing us kisses goodbye one day, then gone from us the next.
We study the dear one she left behind, and have to clench our hearts together, so that they don’t fly off in a million broken pieces. He, too, looks down at his empty hands, and we hear his unspoken thoughts—“I was just holding you. I love you. Goodbye.”
If This Is Goodbye
Mark Knopfler, English songwriter
(1949-present)
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