Tuesday, August 21, 2018

My senior is 100 percent ready for senior year, but my heart is catching up

From Saturday's Briefing:

Dear child on the eve of your senior year,
You are 100 percent ready for this final year of high school. My heart is catching up.
When you stand on the front porch in the morning, posing for our traditional first-day-of-school photo, I will see both a 6-foot-4 young man and a squirmy 5-year-old. Or perhaps I'll struggle to see much at all, vision clouded by tears.
I anticipate many momma tears this year, as you experience all sorts of "lasts" and prepare for a host of "firsts." But I'm also prepared for a whole bunch of joy — and the smidge of frustration that veteran parents have warned me about.
You and your peers were the last group of babies born in the carefree days before 9/11. While the nation was in shock and mourning, we parents held our babies extra tight, fearful for your future, comforted by your innocence.
We have persevered. You have persevered.
When you started kindergarten, your family looked like most of the families in our neighborhood. Mom, dad, little sister. In the middle of first grade, your life took an unexpected turn with Daddy's cancer diagnosis. Your world shattered at the beginning of third grade, when Daddy took his final breath.

We have persevered. You have persevered.
Your third-grade teacher, guidance counselor, principal and I set a goal in the days after Daddy's death: You would end the year emotionally healthy. I cared little for how many spelling tests you passed or how many math facts you memorized.
You cared a great deal, though. You struggled and persisted and progressed.
We learned in the middle of fourth grade that you had been coping for years with undiagnosed dyslexia and dysgraphia. You cheered the news — literally, as if you'd won a prize — thrilled to have an explanation for the obstacles you tackled daily.
You never backed down in the face of learning disabilities. You adopted new strategies. You advocated for yourself. You discovered that trying even harder can be exhausting -- and rewarding.
I have few fears about your senior year and life beyond because you've already endured some of life's greatest heartaches. And you have flourished.
You are creative. You are compassionate. You are light in the darkness.
Moms and dads who've already been where I am tell me the same thing: Enjoy every moment of this year. It's the same advice I give to new mommas, holding their precious infants, because this journey is circuitous and unpredictable and passes faster than our imaginations can comprehend.
I've got all kinds of checklists in my head: college and financial aid applications, senior photos, yearbook ad, registration for AP exams, campus housing deposit, graduation announcements. And events already march across our calendar: senior breakfast, one more ACT, cross country meets, homecoming, bonfire, prom, baccalaureate, graduation.
I'm trying to leave room for what isn't scheduled, for impromptu moments when you share a new favorite song, when I keep you company while you study for calculus, when you ask with sincerity, "What spices did you use for this chicken?"
Some days will be rocky. You will test boundaries. You won't always agree with my decisions. You will question my logic, and I will question yours.
We will forgive one another. We will persevere.
A year from now, you'll be settled in a dorm room far away, embracing new freedoms and exploring life beyond our little house. You'll be ready before me, but I'll eventually catch up.
Know that when I hug you extra tight in these coming days and weeks and months, I'm storing up comfort. I'm preparing my heart.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
First day of kinder in 2006, first day of 12 grade in 2018

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