A Zeta Goodbye

“I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn, and we are lead to those who help us most to grow, if we let them (and we help them, in return).” - For Good, Wicked the Musical.

If I had a nickel for every time I quoted, cried to, or belted this song with my zeta sisters, I wouldn’t be so anxious about finding a job once I cross that commencement stage in less than two weeks. But not even every trite little canvas quote or Instagram caption could summarize what I have experienced in my three short years as a collegiate member of my fraternity, or the feelings I experienced Sunday night at my final collegiate event, Senior Appreciation.

Having attended a few send-offs in the past, I felt that I would be prepared for the general itinerary of the evening: a lot of crying, a bit of laughter, some uncomfortable stories, and, of course, even more crying as we all said goodbye to our bigs, littles, and sisters as the seniors enter the alumnae world. But I could not have been prepared for how hard it was to sit on the other side.

Sitting at the front of the room, and looking out onto the chapter that had been my home for so long was a difficult moment for me. I had always prided myself on being a member who considered herself overly involved. It wasn’t an uncommon occasion that I would find myself up until three in the morning working on a banner for that week’s mixer, or cramming last minute details onto the homecoming float. These delusional nights spent with sleep deprivation and hysterical laughing fits were some that I never expected to be those I cherished most. But that’s what Zeta truly is, I think. It is the unexpected moments where you suddenly find yourself crammed in a car with six girls as you hysterically cry over a joke you can’t even remember the origin of. It’s pomping the homecoming float for hours on end until the tips of your fingers grow numb, but you can’t keep yourself from laughing at the spontaneous dance party thanks to someone playing ‘Lip Gloss’ at full blast. It’s reading your letter to your big at her senior appreciation, trying to speak through the tears as you reminisce on everything she has taught you, and how much she changed your life in the short time you had her.

Leaving is hard. Walking away from the comfort of the strongest support system you could have ever wished for, and leaping into the great unknown that is the “real world” is terrifying. But, though it all, you are granted a sense of hope, and humility. Perhaps some would judge their success in their chapters by counting the philanthropy trophies that line their walls, or the formal t-shirts hanging in their closets, but I choose to judge it by how many faces I saw in the crowd that night.

Seeing the line of people who wanted their turn to cry and laugh, to lament and celebrate with their sisters. Being handed a small jar of glitter and sobbing over it, because your sister told that it wasn’t just glitter, it was floo powder so I could come home whenever I missed them too much. Hearing the words “you’re why I’m here, you’re why I’m home” and laughing through your tears because you can’t possibly believe that you could have touched someone’s life in such a significant way. Holding your perfect, precious littles in your arms as they tell you that you inspired their successes and motivations to become the strong women you boast about so often. All of these things are moments you could never anticipate, but would never trade for anything in the world.