I am sitting on my living room sofa with the view to the bright blue sky and the greenery of the trees. The fieldfares, chaffinches and leaf warblers have been out and about for hours already, not to mention the crows who had their morning gathering at the wee hours of the morning. My family is still at sleep.
I have all three daughters at home. The older ones came to the graduation of their youngest sister. My mom and my sis and nephews came, and my cousin with her daughter. It was a merry evening with a big chocolate cake, chatter and laughter.
How is it possible that the youngest finished high school and is ready to move on? Wasn’t it like only a year ago when she went to first grade? She was one year old when we moved to this apartment and she was so small that she could stand straight under a kitchen table.
When she stood in front of the whole school yesterday, receiving her diploma and silver medal, I saw a beautiful confident young woman smiling broadly. She got praise from her homeroom teacher for her dedication to studies, for her active participation in school life, for her presentation and acting skills, and for being a sweet person overall. My hands hurt from clapping. Joy and pride jived in my heart.
I can’t remember the emotions of graduating a high school. Somewhere there is a slight feeling of relief, but was this so, I don’t know. I know I had a light blue dress, and my mom, dad and younger sister were there. I received flowers. I can’t remember a cake, though I am rather sure we ate some. The day signalled as a clear end of one era and a start of something new and unknown.
Last Saturday my mom came to my graduation of two-and-half year long coach-supervisor studies. Finishing studies and receiving a certificate when you are fifty-two, working a full time job and have raised your children, is an achievement. Flowers and cream cheese-berry cake were present. Joy and pride tangoed. The ending itself felt softer and weaved into the fabric of the rest of the life. Not much changed, because Monday was a regular workday.
My daughter has decisions to make, university entry tests to take and a future to create. I wish I could give her all the wisdom I have now, but I know that wisdom can’t be gifted in a box. I have sprinkled some of it here and there and hope that maybe little bits of it she can already take along and it would help her. Like all of us, she has her own lessons to learn and experiences to collect. I don’t worry too much. She is a learner, has a kind heart and she knows what she wants.
I wish this morning to last a bit longer. The even breathing of sleeping children always fills the well of love, even when they are adults and live their own life and are only visiting their childhood home.
Soon everyone will be awake, and we’ll get busy heading to the countryside to celebrate nephews’ birthdays and the midsummer night. I sit here and wonder, whether my mom at seventy-nine has the same sentiment, when we are all sleeping under her roof tonight.
Loved that question in the end- makes you think and wonder.
Such a lovely tender post.