The graduation gown is hanging in the closet, patiently waiting for its one day in the sun. In a few days, my youngest child will walk across the stage and officially end her years in school. As she receives her diploma, she will be tipping the scales, closing a chapter and beginning a new one.
The scale tips for me, too. I’m far removed from my season of firsts: First apartment, first home, first pet, first job. From now on, there will still be firsts, but they will slow considerably. From now on, I will have to seek out new experiences intentionally, because they will no longer be coming at me like water from a firehose.
The parenting firsts were the milestones I loved most: first solid food, first time sleeping through the night, first steps, first lost tooth, first time reading. Firsts are filled with unknown wonder and possibility. I want to remember it all.
It’s been a privilege to watch my children discover the world gradually, whether it was sharing in their glee at learning to ride a bike, or the heartache when a friendship ended. It was a roller coaster at times, but each day brought so much newness and discovery that sometimes I found myself hanging on for dear life at the breakneck speed with which it was all happening.
The past year has been breakneck in a bittersweet sort of way. My daughter’s senior year has been a parade of lasts, both for her and her parents: last high school prom, last dance recital, last wakeup for school.
When my daughter was only 8 or 9, she began to lose her baby face and was starting to look grown up. Still, she would eagerly jump into her daddy’s arms for a hug. He’d sweep her up and squeeze her tight. Later, he’d tell me, “I want to remember how it feels to hold her in my arms. You never know when it’s going to be the last time.”
All these years actively parenting four bright, sensitive, and curious kids have left an indelible imprint on my heart, and a few scars, too. From feeling their kicks and hiccups during pregnancy, to rocking them to sleep at night, all the way to handing over the car keys and watching them drive away solo for the first time, I’ve been acutely aware of the passage of time. Each season of parenting has its fair share of joys and challenges, and as time speeds up, I’m finding myself wishing the minutes would tick by a little more slowly. I want that for myself, but I remember when I was the age of my children. I couldn’t wait for things to get started. To really begin. My daughter, just like her three older siblings, waits impatiently at this final launchpad before adulthood hits.
For her, this tiny blip of lasts is a precursor to her own season of firsts as an adult: First apartment, first job, first car. For her, everything is beginning. The future is uncertain, but she is approaching it with the same guts and determination she showed when teetering on her two-wheeled bike so many years ago. Her arms are opening wide to the world, the way she used to jump up for a daddy bear hug. It will be a privilege to watch this next season unfold. I can’t wait to see what she does. I hope the world is kind to her.
