I watch the slump of her shoulders as she boards the bus for
home. Her hopes of going to State
are dashed. Her last high school
season for one-act play is over and done.
This was not the way she had envisioned it ending. Her disappointment is palpable.
As school chaperone for the day, I take my place near the
front of the bus and long to go to her, but know she prefers to be alone for
now. I must wait until we are
home. I can hear the splintering
of her heart from three rows up.
She wants her senior year to be perfect. Of course she does.
They all do. They want to
be applauded and awarded and toasted.
They long for a legacy, of sorts.
“Oh, she’s the one that took all those awards, remember? Yeah, she was something!”
It is a natural desire. I don’t begrudge her those dreams – no, not one speck. But as I sit in the gathering darkness
on a bumpy school bus, snowflakes swirling in the beams of white headlights, pieces
of staging and costumes littered about, I am acutely aware that tonight is a
mere foreshadowing of life.
She cannot know that.
She is not supposed to know that.
Not yet. When you are
seventeen, life is only about dreams about to be birthed. It is about balancing on the ledge of
future happiness. It is all about
HOPE.
I already know that her life will not be perfect. Whose is? I think back to myself at her age and how many of my friends
from that time have experienced every conceivable trial known to man. I have borne the weight of a few
myself.
She will know disappointments and personal failures. She will question at times whether she
made the right choice. She will
shed tears of heartbreak. Who has
not experienced these thoughts and feelings at one time or another?
She is human.
She will too.
I turn in my seat to look her. She is so lovely.
Her long tresses are golden in the fading light. My heart beats with every beat of her
heart. I know that the mask of
indifference she is wearing now is an attempt to prevent tears from splashing
down her tired face. I wish I
could magically create that senior year she longs for and dreamed of. I cannot.
And yet…
Maybe…
… maybe, the greater kindness it to simply share her
journey. Just be there, like a
lengthening shadow across a summer field.
When she faces disappointment and her heart constricts with
pain, listen and nod. When she is
angry and lashes out, lovingly point out the greater perspective. When she feels low and useless, help
her see herself through my eyes.
And when her body crumples into my mine, wrap around her arms of
unconditional love and will my strength into her fragile soul. She will hear the whisper of my voice
low in her ear reminding her that she is made of feathers and steel; fragility
and strength in one breathtaking package.
I also know, there will be moments of ecstasy and boundless
joy. I will be there then too.
And so, my Love…
Cuddle your hopes.
Pull them close to your youthful, beating heart and caress them to
fulfillment. Fan the flame of
Possibility and its cousin, Ambition, until they are warming fires in your
soul. Set your face to the wind,
spread your beautiful wings, and soar to azure skies. There is nothing to stop you from flying to the moon and the
twinkling stars beyond.
And I…
I will watch your retreating figure until it disappears into
the heavens and I will clap and cheer and grin like an idiot. I will be ridiculously proud of all you
are at that moment.
As I am proud of you tonight. You are so incredibly talented and wonderful.
And on those days when the winds buffet you about and you
need shelter from the storms…
I’ll be here.
Always.
