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T-Minus Six Weeks and Counting
You may remember that back in January, I wrote about my realization that both of my offspring had only one semester left in their senior years before each graduates, one from high school and one from college.
(If you don’t remember, what have you been doing with yourself, other than ignoring my deathless prose?)
To summarize the last blog post, my younger child’s principal came into her humanities class and told them they had 89 days left as high school students. She then offhandedly told that little nugget of heartache to me before blithely wandering off to her room to do homework, unaware of the puddle of Mom she left behind her.
Well, we’re now in our last six weeks. Imagine how THAT hit me.
Once again, I was never the mom to weep when my children hit the big milestones. I cheer that they are doing exactly what they are programmed to do: grow up and move forward, living their lives as independent people.
But…
Everything I do is now tinged with a bittersweet quality. This weekend will be the last time I go to Austin College in Sherman to see a play that my older kiddo is involved in producing. I realized that next year will be the first year since it reopened in 2018 that I.M. Terrell Academy will not have one of my sprogs as a student. Each event has a sense of finality and sadness attached to it that I’m not used to.
(Again, I know that graduations are not about me, but this article is, dammit.)
I think part of my struggle is because I’ve always been the mom who doesn’t weep. I love that my kiddos are maturing into people that I want to know. I have lived in my head, understanding child development and knowing that my whole purpose as a mother is to raise my children to leave and become their own person. But I can’t seem to find that objectivity these days.
My babies are growing up. My heart hurts, and my eyes leak.
So if you see me in these next six weeks, please ignore the mess that I am. Pat my head and tell me it will be alright. And if you’re feeling the same way I’m feeling, know that you aren’t alone. There are a lot of parents who feel like you do right now.
Solidarity, my sisters and brothers. Solidarity.
