Originally published at Ignatian Spirituality
A friend of mine had a tradition during college that started when we met my sophomore year. On the last night on campus, he would stop by my dorm at 2 a.m. and make me drop everything to take a walk with him. He knew I would be up all night packing. I always waited until the last minute to pack my stuff for the 21-hour car ride back to Texas. The first year I resisted the invitation: “Joe, I need to finish packing. I have everything planned out to the minute so that my stuff will be on the curb ready to go when my parents come by tomorrow. I cannot waste any time.” But like a good friend, he insisted: “You have no choice. It’s our last day on campus this year. You will not get this moment back.” I rolled my eyes at his sentimentality, but I went.
We walked from my dorm to the Clarke Memorial Fountain first, a war memorial that stood in front of the student center. “Stop,” my friend insisted. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he made me pause and face the fountain and take in the sound of the rushing water.
