Funny, I did not cry. All week I had fought off tears, but when the time came for my son to graduate from high school, I watched the ceremony with dry eyes and a calm countenance. As in so many other areas of my life, I did my most emotional work in anticipation of the day.
And now here we are on the other side of graduation, and life is more or less normal. There is an eighteen-year-old staying up too late, sleeping too late, eating at very odd hours, playing video games, and halfheartedly looking for a summer job.
There is also a younger boy whose interests and concerns I have neglected lately. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, he has thrived this year. High school agrees with him.
My work is finished until the fall. The long summer days stretch before me with little caretaking to do on behalf of my children.
And so I will spend the time taking care of myself. To my ear that sounds indulgent, but why should it sound so?
Maybe I will write here. Maybe I will not. I will walk, read, write, garden, walk, read, write, garden, walk, and only later in the summer remember that the first day of college for the high school graduate is on August 17th.