text: We see people for the last time all the time. On some occasions it’s a momentous moment, others we are not even aware of the finality of what we have witnessed. While each instance is unique in some way, there are only really four ways to see someone for the last time. There is the inconsequential, the unknowing, the final chapter, and the future cut short. The inconsequential way is unremarkable except for the fact of how often that it occurs. It’s when you walk down the street passing people who are, and will only remain, strangers. It’s driving through traffic with the crowd of characters that only mean as much to you as the make and model of their car. Inconsequentially seeing someone for the last time is, in practice, the same as never seeing someone at all. No more than a quick word or glance was exchanged and that is all that will be given. You forget about them once they are out of sight and they might not even have noticed you. You don’t think much of it and you shouldn’t. Next comes the slightly more tragic: the unknowing. This way matters after the fact but seems simply ordinary when it occurs. It’s the reason you should say “I love you” before you hang up the phone. It’s when what was mostly a normal Tuesday become a memory played on repeat. Unknowingly seeing someone for the last time has no pomp and circumstance to it, no ceremony, no tears, nor triumph. The last couple of words shared were likely something like “could you grab a gallon of milk on your way home?” Neither of you knew what was happening, although there is a chance that they did and had their reasons not to tell you. Perhaps at this very moment you have unknowingly seen someone for the last time and will only find out shortly. But sometimes you do see it coming. Sometimes you know that this “goodbye” is the resolution--the final chapter in the book. It’s sitting bedside holding a cold hand. It’s seeing the back of a coat disappear through terminal gates. The final chapter doesn’t come as a surprise as you could feel the thin stack of pages ahead of you. Maybe you prepared a bit of a speech on what the person meant to you and there’s a chance you even said it. Always falling somewhere between celebration and sorrow, this is a last time that you both prepared to remember. All stories need to end at some point. Yet some stories never really get started. The last type of last time is the future cut short. It’s realizing that in looking for the right moment you’ve waited too long. It’s seeing a thousand scenarios that have played out in your mind go up in smoke. All that could have been, all that you imagined to be possible, comes crashing down in just a single moment. There’s probably a sendoff you would like to give, and after a few drinks you might let it slip, but you know that it’s not the right thing to do. You spent quite a lot of time thinking about them and will never really know what they thought of you. It’s this final encounter where you learn the hardest thing about saying goodbye isn’t putting the past to rest, but giving up on the future.