Today I squeezed him a little tighter
My oldest son hugged me goodbye this morning as he has
done every school day for the past twelve years. I squeezed him tight and told
him I loved him as I have done every school day for the past twelve years.
But today I squeezed him a little tighter.
Today was the last time I would hug him goodbye and send
him off to school.
I realize that sounds melodramatic. Perhaps I’ve induced
an eye roll or two. But hear me out.
I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of lasts. Firsts
are exciting and seem to get all the attention, but lasts, well, they can be
elusive, mysterious even. Life oftentimes makes it impossible to mark the lasts
of early parenting. The last bottle, the last bath, the last diaper change, the
last meal in a high chair, the last bedtime tuck-in, the last read-aloud, the
last push in a stroller, the last crust cut-off. Those lasts go gentle into the
good night and we’re off and running to the nexts.
But today I squeezed him a little tighter.
Today was the last time I would hug him goodbye and send
him off to school.
I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of memories.
The storage space above our garage is proof positive. It is full of my past,
boxes and crates full of my past. I keep a lot of ridiculously important
things. No one else understands the importance of saving the pebble I nervously
played with during my first “real” kiss. That meaningful piece of stone lives
with many other treasures like my cream polyester eighth grade graduation dress
and my Empire Strikes Back movie ticket stub from my twenty-seventh time.
It’s also full of other pasts. I have a box for college,
a box for my wedding, boxes from my twelve years teaching, and boxes for my
sons. I’m sure if I went through everything I’d find unrecognizable things, the
reason for saving it in the first place long forgotten. But other things remain
seared into my memory, like the baby blanket he clutched in his precious little
hand, crying out from his crib for, “Comfies, Mommy!” Comfies was his term and
it perfectly described me covering him up before he drifted to sleep. Comfies
lives in my box of memories.
I’ve always been fascinated by the future. You may think
I live in the past. I don’t. I treasure the past. I hold memories dear, but I’m
an anticipator, always gazing towards the possibilities. The future excites me,
helps me let things go and for that I am thankful.
His future is upon us, knocking on our door, waiting to
take his hand. I must let go.
I’ve saved too much, my husband says. I say I’ve saved
the lasts, and today was the last time I would hug him goodbye and send him off
to school.
Today I squeezed him a little tighter.
