It’s never easy getting old. My recently graduated friend has been bombarded with an endless stream of inquisitors who insistently ask: “How are you doing?” Her reply is always: “I’m not dying.” And yet, as my final year looms closer, the reality of my dwindling time and my inescapable graduation sometimes makes me feel like I am, in fact, dying.
Late in spring semester, we extended our palms over the Flaherty senior class of 2024. They gathered near the altar below our outstretched arms, like our prayers could shower down on them. They stood, most of them crying, others just staring at their feet. I thought about how soon I would be the one standing up at the altar, probably wailing myself. Before I knew it, I would be bathed by the prayers of the underclassmen, ready to be released into the world.
We sent the class of 2024 off with an Irish blessing. As this is my first column of senior year, I thought I’d give my readers this blessing along with the Irish wisdom I’ve gained these past three years …
May the road rise to meet you,
May you, young underclassmen, always find your way back from Legacy in one piece. May you trot along Angela Boulevard and Juniper Road with your Chipotle bowl in hand and always know which way the Dome is. May you never be crushed by the impending whir of an electric scooter and the campus royalty that sits atop its back. May the Asian stir-fry line always stay true and straight and never take too long. May you make the journey safely back from Hesburgh Library in the wee hours of dawn and may you never fall off your lofted ladder. May your twin-XL bed and its unwashed sheets rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May your backpack never be left halfway unzipped, strewing all your pencils and papers across God Quad. May you wear the merch of your chosen hall, student club or academic college proudly across your trapezius. May you never let the weight of the Duncan Smith machine on your shoulders crush you. May you never let the weight of your two 10-page essays and four exams on your shoulders crush you.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
May your parka protect your cheeks from the bitter South Bend wind. May you never get caught in the Corbett wind tunnel, just clambering your way to try to make it to the Compton Family Ice Arena. May you relish in the disingenuous spring that emerges in early April and never let your hopes be squashed by the mid-April snow and gloom that will inevitably follow. May you lay across North Quad on a picnic blanket and absorb the UVs and may you ignore any lingering glances from the passersby heading to the dining hall.
And the rains fall soft upon your fields.
May you always remember, that without the late nights locked up in the Mendoza basement, the nights spent on the Newf’s dance floor would never be possible. May you think fondly of your broken freshmen year friendships, promising yourself that your sophomore year bonds will be worth it. May you never feel like an imposter and always remember that you are here for a reason — that you have been chosen to enter this campus and to leave it changed. May your mind be filled with wisdom, may your heart be enlarged with love and may your soul be aflame with faith.
And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.
To the recently graduated class of 2024, who are already imbued with this Irish wisdom, may you never let your time at Notre Dame be forgotten. This isn’t goodbye and you aren’t dying. There is so much life left to live beyond these quads.
To my classmates, as well as all the underclassmen, let us soak up our time left here. May we not let our four years here fly by so quickly as to forget why we were so eager to go here in the first place. Crouching by the grotto, listening to the bells of the Basilica that chime out our Alma Mater each night at 10 p.m., I am reminded of the little girl I once was, so eager to be here on this campus, so ready to be kneeling in that very spot. The warmth of the Notre Dame community hugs me close, keeping me upright, reminding me that I am kept safe in the palm of God’s hand.
Until we meet again, dear readers.
