It is a month and a half past my oldest child’s high school graduation, and the fact that he is heading to college in a few weeks still seems impossible to me.  Life as we know it, the life I have treasured, is about to change.

After every life stage, I have found ways to call it my favorite.  When I was pregnant with him, I loved the feel of his movements within my body.  When he was an infant, I loved the cuddles of nursing time.  As he aged into a toddler, I was amazed constantly by his daily changes, by the way he learned and explored the vast world around him, and I prized being his primary teacher and caregiver, whom he showered with love and affection.  The school years, which seemed to take forever, yet were gone in an instant, were a roller coaster of emotions, as we tried to teach him responsibility and accountability; they raced and crawled along, as we rejoiced in his gifts and accomplishments, and helped him to find a path which would lead him toward spiritual and emotional maturity.  I’m sure we let him down as often as we raised him up, and I am thankful both for the Lord who filled in our gaps, and for the people who were put into our lives.  My boy has been blessed with people who have poured into him to make him the person he is, and who continue to help mold him into a better version of himself.

And now we are coming to another milestone.  Another profound period of growth for us all.  While faith gives me hope that more blessings are upon our horizon, and that without this next step, we would never know the joy of the plans laid out before us, I still mourn the loss of what is now gone.

Why are pictures so important to me?  Because they are my memories.  They are the snapshots which remind me of what once was.  They are warm reminders of this incredible journey we call life.

So I say to Logan, my first born who will soon be marching into adulthood as I stand and watch him soar:

I would try to be profound. We all know I love to write. But I don’t have it in me today. I have never felt such an intense whirlwind of joy and sorrow.

It doesn’t matter that you tower over me… you will always be the baby boy who made me a mother, whose entire body fit on my torso, whose sweet lips would kiss my cheeks, and whose raspy voice would sing to my soul.

Congratulations, son. In the beautiful words of Henry David Thoreau, “…you have built your castles in the air…. Now, go put foundations under them.”

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