Here. Be. Now.

I didn't see Ted after breakfast yesterday. It was his last day of school. His last day of high school ever. He spent the afternoon and evening golfing and kibitzing with his friends. I made him breakfast as I've done every school day morning since kindergarten and I packed his last school lunch. I know I know...he's capable, but it's one of the ways I unapologetically show my love. I slipped a note in his lunch - something I haven't done since kindergarten. I acknowledged that this was the last lunch, told him that it has been my pleasure to send him off every day with a balanced meal and promised that care packages would replace them. I'm already squirreling away boxes. I resisted saying anything mushy or overly sentimental lest I embarrass him in front of his tribe at his table. I was surprised to get a text that thanked me for the note and the chicken thigh on ciabatta sandwich. He said, "Thx for the sandwich and the note saved the best one for last." Insert purple heart emoji. Made my day! Be still my heart.

Before the kids left, (Lily is no breakfast, but she does take a lunch) I asked them to pose for the obligatory last day photo. Technically, she still has exams so she's not finished, but she's close. It's a ritual. I don't make them stand with chalk board signs and often they aren't the best pictures. We're hurried...always running late. Yet, I love these annual shots because they tell the story of our lives. Here. Now. Be.

I must now confess that I am strangely feeling not undone. How is that for a terrible sentence? I know that my nostalgic nature makes me prone to be wistful and sentimental so I gear up to be an emotional wreck at times like these. The thing is I am oddly calm, clear headed. It's almost like I am having an out of body experience or as if this is all happening to someone else. I realize that this is a defense mechanism because to feel all the feels right now might land me in bed for weeks. Not that I've ever done that, but I fear I could.

I was busy at work all morning  yesterday and then I took off in the afternoon. My plan was to beat the crowd at the nursery. Every year I travel the country roads in silence to this same garden store for my strepto carpella. It's the only place I can get them and I was worried because I was late this year. Turns out there were lots of people and also plenty of plants to choose from. I felt relief. There was one summer I was too late. I felt like a let my mom down. Every time I see my dainty not quite blue not quite purple violets, I think of her. She always had them hanging on the porches of her blue and white house. This is an homage to her.

I sat outside in the dark the other night. The air was cool and clingy. No bugs yet. I had a few words with my mom. I don't speak aloud. I know she can read my thoughts, feel my energy. I'm missing her fiercely. Of all the milestones and occasions we've celebrated without her, that she's missing this one hurts. She would have just loved to tell anyone she could that Teddy is graduating with honors and continuing the Badger tradition in our family. She would have already made her donation to the Grid Iron Club and ordered her season football tickets, and a brand new Badger sweatshirt. She should be here now.

And yet, I know that she is. She's still here. She's the bluebird we saw in the park the other night. She's the hummingbird that visits my strepto carpella. She's the silent strength I need to travel through this end into a new beginning with grace.