How do you find closure for something like that?

A good friend of mine asked me that question a few weeks ago in regard to my position as editor of The Baker Orange and the fact that I’ll be trading my newsroom key for a diploma.

I didn’t have an answer for her then, and the question followed me out of her office, creeping up on me at inopportune times, like the neighbors’ dog that only barks when you’re ready for bed.

All I’ve been able to think about for the past month is the fact that I’m graduating, I’ve never had a semester where I’ve been this busy and I can’t wait till finals are over.

I’ve been too busy thinking about making it to graduation day to allow myself to stop and think about what happens afterward. 

But that’s also because a part of me knows nothing in my life will ever be the same after graduation.

I don’t think you can find closure for something like that.

That’s why I’m not going to focus on what I’m leaving behind, but rather what I’m taking with me when I say goodbye.

I met my best friends while working on the Orange.

Some of them said their farewells last year, others will have to wait, but they all made Wednesday work nights in the newsroom special.

They all made Baker special, they made me special.

I find closure when I hear Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” because it reminds me of Wes sleeping on the chairs in front of the Macs in the newsroom.

I find it when I see the replica of him Courtney made for policy presentations, and it’s faded because it’s been hanging on the wall so long.

I find it when I see the montage of photos Jenalea gave me to put in my office, the office that was her office last year, the same office where when I was having a really bad day and broke down she said we were going to laugh about it eventually.

Now I find closure in laughing about the tears. 

I find closure when I look at the notes Courtney leaves me on my desk, the Valentine’s Day cards she made from scratch for the section editors, the decorations she brings each work night that add personality to the newsroom.

I find closure when I listen to ’80s power ballads, the same ballads that kept me awake at 2 a.m. copy editing.

I find it when I look at the All-Kansas Award, when my friend who told me I need to find closure after I couldn’t answer her question walks up with tears in her eyes and hugs me at the last Board of Trustees meeting I’ll ever report on.

I find closure when I look at my best friends and don’t need words to explain how I feel about the Orange, my friends who know exactly what I’m going through, who love it and hate it as much as I do.

I find closure when I look at the people I love, the people that breathed life into the Orange during their time here, who breathed life into me as a person.