I've never been good at endings. It's something most of my closest friends know about me. And it goes way back. I remember in elementary school, when I finished my last day of sixth grade at the school I'd attended my whole life. Depression hit me like a sack of sadness, and I couldn't move on from the fact that I'd never darken those doors again. Instead, childhood was being shed like a too-tight skin to make way for pre-teendome. And I was not a fan.
To this day, I won't watch the series finale when I stream my favorite shows because it's too sad. In my twisted little world, as long as I don't watch Monica, Chandler, Pheobe, Ross, Joey and Rachel walk down that hallway one last time, then they continue on as they always have ... sipping coffee at Central Perk and living their quirky, mid-90s lives. There's comfort in that for me. Even if I know it isn't true.
Today, I'm facing one of those endings that I know will hurt like my first breakup. It will stay with me a little bit forever because after today, everything will be different. You see, I've been privileged to live in the same neighborhood for 17 years. For 10 of those years, I have walked my boys to and from the elementary school around the corner most days, listening to their stories, fielding their questions, hearing silly boy jokes (usually of the bodily function variety) ... and loving every stinking minute of it.
It was hard enough after my oldest graduated from this sweet bubble. But for the last three years, I've had the pleasure and privilege of continuing this tradition with my sweet youngest boy. But tomorrow he graduates, ending his six years at this fantastic place, ending, essentially, the most innocent part of his life. After this, he is a middle schooler. And there's no going back.
I will cry. I know that. It will be an ugly cry. And it may not end for a few weeks. Because, while change is good, it's also just plain hard. I'm so excited about what new adventures lie ahead for my boy. He will grow and change in ways that will mould who he will become as a man in these coming years.
Maybe that's why I grieve. Because, while I want him to grow and thrive, I will miss these walks. I will miss these innocent conversations. I'll even miss the silences that came with the hard days. I will miss his youth.
But then I'm reminded of something. I realize in these sad moments that I am so very blessed to have those memories to grieve. Many parents don't have the ability to slow down and be in the moment like this. They haven't had the chance to walk to and from school, marveling at ants and birds along the way. They've never been able to stop for a few minutes to swing on the tire swing hanging from the big tree in the park as they walked by.
How honored I am to have these memories to look back on. How very grateful I am that I have them to shed tears for. Just like my sitcom friends, it's inevitable that we have to walk away, toward a new future. But when I look back, I will remember these sweet days as being some of the best of my life.
I will remember what a blessing it was, and I can only hope when he looks back he feels the same. That one day, when we both reflect on our lives, we will both recognize what a gift these walks were. After today, as we take steps toward uncharted territory, I pray this new walk will be one filled with adventure, bravery and faith ... hand-in-hand, together.
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