A memory from three years ago, when my eldest was a senior in high school. Now, my twins are seniors, and on the cusp of their own adventures and experiences as they graduate in May 2025.
I am still feeling this way: contemplative, hesitant, and awkward. The more I turn to them and listen, try to support all the exciting firsts and lasts of this year, and as I engage with the emotions *they* are feeling, I can see their perspective. They are ready, or getting ready, to soar.
They have matured in many ways with stubborn ferocity, and we are all learning as we grow. The more I see the meaning and purpose of the future they are choosing, the more I can feel warm and eager about all this school year will entail.
from September 2021
The westward light at dusk is always golden — even during a rain shower through clouds, although the sky above my garden is blue tonight.
“She’s going to leave you next year,” a colleague said glumly. I had shared that all 3 of my daughters are in high school for one spectacular year. And I know my eldest is a senior.
I gave my coworker the side eye and replied, “But we’re all here — right now — and it’s so incredible!” It really is.
There’s a hazy rainbow somewhere East, but I’m too busy watching bees under delicate unfurled petals and hum on how the soft pink air illuminates these blooms.
Maybe my colleague doesn’t understand my heart, which lives passionately for the moment, in the moment, while anticipating the grief of delivering my child into some great distant unknown.
In a year — who knows how I’ll feel? My skin is wet and cold for a brief moment, but the air is alive and musky.
In a world where everyone looks at rain clouds and storms, I’m always chasing sunshine and flowers; even on days I’m side-eying naysayers and getting soaked in the rain.
Guess what? I’m in love with the wonder of it all.
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