150 words #2
I watched him walk across the stage last night, and then his final solo with the band. And I was all the things a parent should be. Proud, relieved, excited.
But while I slept it was as if all of the cliches gathered and came home to roost. And when I woke all I could think was, ‘Where did those years go?’ and, ‘It seems like yesterday.’
I think of the things I haven’t taught him and the things I haven’t done. He can’t play tennis, he can’t speak French. I never found that one thing for his lunchbox, made on Sunday and sent in every day. I say, ‘Do you remember?’ and he shakes his head.
I tell myself to let it go, remind myself it’s ego. But it’s more than that, it’s soul. I close my eyes and feel him still, resting against my chest. My baby, grown.