It’s beautiful out there. After weeks of rain everyone is glad to see the sun, it makes for high spirits on a day that should probably feel more ominous than it does. I’ve given a lot of unintentional thought over the last year as to how I might feel on our final day of homeschooling, but with its arrival, I find myself not feeling much of anything. That’s not entirely true, I guess what I’m feeling is contentment. Surely my maternal display could be grander than this. To be honest, it’s a little disappointing. I thought I'd go all in, reveling in the moment, feeling it more deeply than is expected or reasonable. Am I in denial? Possibly. Probably. Give me a minute and I’m sure at the most inopportune time the flood gates will open and I’ll be on my knees begging the cosmos to mend my life, to turn back time, to allow us to live and learn together forever and ever. Or maybe not. Maybe it will all be just fine, as it is in this moment, where the only thing I seem to be feeling is contented joy and genuine happiness for her. It helps that I’ve spent some time reflecting on the immense support and encouragement we’ve received through the years, the serendipitously crossed paths that have resulted in meaningful and lasting relationships. This easily puts me in a happy place. It also helps that she is not one for nostalgia or fanfare. All business, this girl of mine. Although she has expressed concern about where she will “come home to” while at college. Apparently she is under the impression that home might be a wall tent in the woods with a totally unfinished cabin beside it. What do you mean? This is a problem? (No worries, kiddo. A cozy home will be waiting for you… somewhere.)
So. We’re done. The day feels quiet and unceremonious which is exactly how Emily prefers it. That leap of faith we took all those years ago has placed us here on the other side, holding the gift of having lived our lives together rather than apart. I could not have known how profound such an unconventional act was. A protest, really. And isn’t that something to think about. Today I’ll put a hundred or so onions in the ground and take care of this pile of rhubarb in front of me. The violets are drying and a bunch of morels have been dried with plenty left for fresh eating. Tomorrow one of my oldest friends will come over and we’ll drink coffee and debrief and maybe that will be the moment I fall to pieces. Or maybe not. In any event, life is in front of me, not behind. Well, truth be told, life only exists inside that which can be felt, held, and touched. Right here and now is everything. The world turns and kids grow and seasons change and mothers come home to themselves, again and again. I can do this.