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When I was told that my family decided to move from the only home that I had ever known, I ran into the garden and sat alone, crying, as tears welled up from my hearts.
Suddenly I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. It was my grandfather.
"It isn't easy, is it, Billy?" he said softly, sitting down on the steps beside me.
"Grandpa," I replied through my tears, "how can I ever say goodbye to you and all my friends?"
"Goodbye is such a sad word," he said. "Although we seem to have so many ways of saying goodbye, they all have one thing in common: sadness."
Then he gently took my hand in his and took me to his favorite place in the garden, where a huge red rose bush grew alone.
"What do you see here, Billy?" he asked.
I looked at the flowers, "I see something soft and beautiful, Grandpa."
Kneeling, he pulled me close. "It isn't just the roses that are beautiful, Billy. It's that special place in your heart that makes them so."
I saw my grandfather's tears. I had never seen him cry before.
"I planted these roses a long, long time ago. I put them into the ground the day my first son was born. That boy's name was Billy, just like yours. I used to watch him pick roses for his mother. One day a terrible war came, and my son went away to fight for the country. Three months later a letter came. My son had died in a village in Italy. All I could think of was that the last thing I said to him in his life was goodbye."
Grandpa slowly stood up. He said, "Don't ever say goodbye, Billy. Don't ever give in to the sadness and loneliness of that word. I want you to remember the happiness of those times when you first said hello to your friends. Take that special hello into your heart. When you and your friends must part, I want you to reach deep within yourself and bring back that first hello."
A year and a half later, my grandfather became badly ill. When he returned from the hospital, the family members were summoned. It was time for the family members to say their goodbyes.
When it came to my turn, I noted how tired he looked. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and hard.
I took his hand as gently as he had once taken mine.
"Hello, Grandpa," I said. His eyes slowly opened.
"Hello, my friend," he said, with a smile.
