I have never gotten use to the feeling of saying goodbye. I never said goodbye to my Mother while she lay in the hyper-oxygen incubator. I never said goodbye to my brother before he joined the Federation navy and got his head imploded by a beam of plasma.
I never said goodbye to my professors in the astrobiology department. I did not attend my graduation.
Now I cannot say goodbye to the bartender, just leaving a credit voucher on the table when I slide off the stool and walk through the station.
Now, stepping onto the docking pad, there is no way to avoid it. The smell of starship fuel and lightweight alloys are absolute reminders that, even if I don't know how to say goodbye, there is a finality in the act of embarking.
Each step is electrifying. The adrenaline of departure and a goodbye I finally cannot avoid.