As I sit here writing this, it’s a gray, wet morning in South Bend. There’s a hint of warmth hiding beneath the gloom, but the sky is dark and it looks nothing like the bright day that made the dome sparkle yesterday. In spite of the weather, I still enjoyed my last drive of the summer down Notre Dame Avenue, with the dome standing sentinel at the end. It’ll be a quick trip “home” to Buffalo and then I will once again make the drive back to my “home under the dome.”
For me, this will be my fifth trip home since graduating from high school. I remember the anticipation and outright fear of my first trip to Notre Dame as a student. I sat in the back of my dad’s navy blue Ford Edge, clutching the pile of stuffed animals next to me, wondering if I had perhaps made some terrible mistake. My anxiety mounted as we drove towards campus, but then I was sitting in the parking lot and being directed to Breen-Phillips, the dorm I would call home for the next three years. As we wound our way onto campus, I was greeted by colorful signs, enthusiastic upperclassmen, my welcoming rector and my fantastic RA. Everyone was determined to help me and set me at ease. I took a deep breath, unlocked my dorm room door and looked out my window; there sat the golden dome. I knew I had made the right decision.
Freshman year brought friends and heartbreak, a few less than spectacular grades, a slight Starbucks addiction, and a new sense of self and purpose. I watched Rudy with one of my new dormmates and as we sat there, cheering like idiots, we looked at each other and kept repeating, “We go here, we actually go here!” It was the most beautiful moment of awareness that there was no place in the world that I would rather be. I was ecstatically conscious of the fact that only Notre Dame could feel so much like home.
I’ll confess that some tears accompany every year of leaving. And though I’m always sad to leave, they are not just tears of sadness, but tears of longing and of thankfulness. I have the most beautiful home in the world at Notre Dame, with people who inspire me and graciously love me. I usually cry coming home, too. There’s something about driving up Notre Dame Avenue, with its leafy green trees shadowing the drive, which is so full of promise. No matter where I’ve been, no matter where I’m going, the dome will always be there to welcome me home.
Sophomore year my parents drove me back to school. I was ecstatic to run around and see my friends again. No more fear or sadness, just excitement and hugs. Junior year was the final year that either of my parents would accompany me home. My dad graduated in 1984 and I think junior year was a bittersweet drop-off for him. I loved Notre Dame, more than I think he ever dared hope for as I grew up, but it was the last time we would make the pilgrimage to Notre Dame together. Since the end of middle school, he and I had made at least a yearly return to his alma mater, but it was the last time we would return to our alma mater together while I was a student.
I received my class ring on September 1 that year. For me, it was my Hogwarts moment. Though no acceptance letter ever came for me by owl, I was accepted to a magical place of shaded quads, profound intelligence, deep compassion and endless love. At the end of the year, after a semester abroad in London, I returned to Notre Dame on my way back to Buffalo. As I stood at the grotto, reading Tom Dooley’s moving words, silent tears ran down my face: “Notre Dame is twice on my mind . . . and always in my heart. That Grotto is the rock to which my life is anchored. Do the students ever appreciate what they have, while they have it? I know I never did.”
I did appreciate it. I do appreciate it. I am so eternally grateful for every day I get to spend at Notre Dame.
This past year, I climbed into my car, loaded up with my most important worldly possessions, and drove. I all but ran out the door on my mother, before she had a chance to realize how much her kind love and wishes for luck were making me sad. I was driving a friend back to St. Mary’s, so with a few deep breaths I swallowed my bittersweet sadness and we made what I thought would be my last pilgrimage back to school as a student.
But as someone once said, “Men plan, God laughs.” It has always stuck with me, because the best-laid plans inevitably seem to go awry. After a flurry of grad school applications, thesis writing and eventual decisions I once again found myself with an offer from Notre Dame. Part of my brain screamed I’ve learned everything I can from Notre Dame, it doesn’t have anything left to teach me. But I knew in my heart of hearts that wasn’t true.
And so arrived the most Notre Dame of Notre Dame moments. I was working on a class project, sitting in front of the dome taking a picture, when my acceptance letter arrived in my inbox. As much as I lament the lack of physical letters these days, the moment could not have seemed more heaven sent if I’d been kneeling at the grotto. I knew, though I couldn’t say why, that this was my sign. I had been asking for a big loud message saying “CHOOSE THIS!” And as I looked up at Mary, on that bitingly cold April day, sitting on the chilly ground, never having been lower in front of the dome, I accepted that Notre Dame still had much to teach me. I knew that if I were willing to let her, I would find that my alma mater still had more to give.
I accepted the very next day and finally took a deep breath, the weight of my future no longer sitting heavily on my shoulders. Choosing Notre Dame again was harder than I ever expected. I had dreamed of becoming a Notre Dame student my whole life and suddenly I could do it again. It felt surreal. I was plagued by doubts when I submitted my application, wondering if I would continue to grow here. But that was a needless concern. I have spent my summer working on campus and even in these three short months I can tell that I have changed.
The truth is, you never really outgrow home. And Notre Dame is home. My friends at other schools would always needle me whenever I said that, but I knew they simply didn’t understand. It is as Lou Holtz said, “Notre Dame is just special. People ask me to describe it. I say if you’ve been here, no explanation is necessary. If you haven’t been, no explanation will suffice. But it’s just a bond that pulls you together here.”
I’m excited to head back to Buffalo tomorrow, but not just because I get to see my friends and family. I am excited to go back to Buffalo, because it means I get to make another pilgrimage back to my home under the dome. I struggled for several years to adequately describe what returning to Notre Dame felt like. Home always fit, but my description was lacking something and that’s when I one day found the word “pilgrimage” in my mouth. After all, isn’t returning to Notre Dame a somewhat holy journey?
My dad always said, “Once you’re a part of Notre Dame, you’re a part of it forever. It’s yours.” I took profound comfort in that notion, especially when I stood on the field as Father Jenkins conferred our degrees upon us. Though I found myself at the end of a wonderful chapter in my life, I knew another life changing one was about to begin.
As I climbed in my car for the last time as undergraduate student (you’re not really an alum until you leave, right?), I took a short detour on my way to the toll road. It was one last drive down Notre Dame Avenue before I flipped to the next page of my life. The sky was a brilliant blue and the sun glinted off the dome in such a way that the gold seemed to burn with light. An unbidden thought crept into my mind as I glimpsed the dome one last time in my rearview mirror, “I’m not going home, not really.”
No matter when you left and no matter when you return, you can always take comfort in the knowledge that Notre Dame will be waiting to welcome you home. At the end of Notre Dame Avenue, there will forever stand a dome gilded in gold, with Mary perched as sentinel, gazing across her beloved trees, lakes and quads.
Whether you arrive to the see the dome outlined against a blue-gray October sky for a football game, on a dreary day in winter under the permacloud, from under the protection of an umbrella on a brisk spring day, or shining in the hot summer sun, I hope you always feel like you are coming home. May every pilgrimage back be a journey home. And our hearts forever, love thee Notre Dame.
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