My granddaughter Thistle graduated from elementary school a couple of days ago. The ceremony happened before the last day of school, and took place in the school garden we have tended for many years (except last summer, during Covid). It was the very first day the whole school and the parents and relatives of the graduates could be there, and was emotional in that way also. I’m vaccinated, as are many of the adults in the gathering, and it was socially distanced and outside, so I felt safe.
Not only was there the emotional impact of Thistle leaving elementary school and entering the different world of middle school, there was the deep and unexpected sadness of leaving a wonderful school that has been an oasis for us during these past seven years, some of which were simply tumultuous. I sat in the car crying for some time before gathering myself back up to say goodbye to teachers. I remarked to a friend later that no matter how positive the environment where Thistle goes next, it’s unlikely there will be the same sense of shelter as her elementary school was. Of course, with these things, sometimes it’s a matter of “giving as good as you got,” being friendly, present, and engaged with the teachers. We have been asked to visit, to work in the garden, and still be connected to the school. But it will not be the same.
I’m amazed at the swift passage of time between kindergarten and sixth grade. It seemed not as intense as when my other children were growing up: it seemed just a progression of kids through their various grades. Now some things really loom on the horizon: an empty nest again at some point, and the hope that I will be in good enough health to enjoy it. I was 48 when my nest first emptied of my youngest child. I had a little over two years as an empty-nester, and I will be 68 when I have whatever version of it comes my way. What will my life be like?
Who knows? I can be the architect of the things I want, even with the knowledge that in time, it all falls down!
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