My son graduated from high school one week ago and I am remain awestruck by the passage of time, the morphing of our family dynamics, the possibilities that lie ahead of him.
We all say it: Where did the time go? It doesn’t seem like twelve years since I snapped this photo of him, standing at the ready for his first day of first grade. We were still living with the kids’ father then; I was still married, but just barely. Our trio moved out just two weeks later. But you can’t see the stress of it on his face and that eases my mother-guilt, the worry that resides with me always, telling me that somehow I’m messing the kids up. He seems happy, though. Blissfully unaware that the Saturday after next, he’ll leave his father’s house and never sleep there again. He has no idea that his days with his father will become fewer and further between until the point that it will be weeks, then months and now years between visits. He’s so excited for the adventure of school. There’s no stopping the happy vibe emanating from him. It’s freakin’ adorable.
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