Progress

Seminary graduation and then our high school's graduation were last week and even though I didn't attend the high school one, they both left me feeling a little bit melancholy because it turns out I don't like graduations anymore.  I don't like what they represent--I'm that much closer to my children graduating.

My niece, Clarissa, graduated in Nevada.  I didn't go but my heart did.  Marianne does everything first and I observed carefully to see if she would self destruct.  Maybe if Marianne can survive Clarissa graduating and leaving the nest, I'll survive Braeden doing the same in a year?

Marianne was sad; she cried a little (not at the graduation but when she was home, cleaning her house and listening to music and thinking about it all).  She told me it was hard.  She also conveyed her excitement.  Looking ahead at Clarissa's future makes her joyful.  Clarissa is in for some fun and adventure and learning and growing.  Marianne's happy for her.

It's all been instructive for me.

I found a story Emma wrote when she was in kindergarten, barely six years old.  It was tucked in a box in my closet.

It was cute but Emma writes real stories now.  She has this beautiful handwriting and imaginative mind and there's no way I'd want to have kept her frozen in time as her six year old self. 

We were talking about middle school at our writing group the other night and I remembered the Emma that was a seventh grade girl.  She was volatile and often times left me scratching my head in a where-is-my-sweet-daughter-and-who-is-this-irritable-girl-that-hates-me sort of way.  Sometimes after school, I sit on Emma's bed and she lays with her head near by lap.  My sweet daughter is back.  I run my fingers through her long hair and we chat about school and writing and summer and books we're reading.  Sometimes we text each other when we're in the same room because that girl is really funny in text messages.  There's this amiable peace between us almost all the time.  Our communication isn't always perfect but the love we share feels like it is.  There's no way I'd want to have kept her frozen in time as her seventh grade self.

I guess this is all my way of comforting myself as I go kicking and screaming towards my next phase of life.  I want to keep my children close always but I also want to let them continue to progress.

Who knows what kind of wonderful is in store?