artificial insemination syringe
“I totally missed it! I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed to the parent sitting next to me at the outdoor venue for my younger son’s high school graduation. I had just failed to capture that perfect moment when my tall, lanky boy leaned down to receive his diploma from the principal. His broad smile, acne spots, and colorful sneakers still made him look like a teenager, not quite the adult he was about to become.
“I knew this would happen!” I lamented to Mike, who patiently listened to my mini-meltdown. “I’m terrible with technology, and if only my husband hadn’t let the batteries die…” Thankfully, the emcee interrupted my rant by announcing Mike’s son’s name. “Oh no, Mike, did I make you miss the photo too?” I asked, mortified that my moment of panic might have affected him as well.
“Relax, Alex, I got it. No worries!” he reassured me.
But I couldn’t help but worry. I was letting my feelings overshadow my son’s big day. I had promised myself to focus on him, not on my own frustrations. Two years earlier, during my older son’s graduation, I had managed to keep my emotions in check, but this time was different. I envied my husband’s ability to simply enjoy the occasion without overthinking its significance.
Usually, when I felt a meltdown approaching, I sought distractions. But at this event, I found none. All the other parents were engrossed in their children’s achievements, and small talk seemed off-limits. The graduates’ red gowns concealed their outfits, which I often used as a distraction during football games when tension ran high. The cicadas’ constant noise couldn’t drown out my racing thoughts.
If the graduation speaker was to be believed, “the best is yet to come.” Perhaps that was true for my son and his friends, but for me, it meant a future where I would be more of a spectator in my son’s life. I envisioned a time when I wouldn’t call him for dinner suggestions or share jokes on the couch. No more comforting hugs after difficult conversations.
I glanced around at other parents who seemed more present than I was. Maybe they were just better actors, I thought, while I wallowed in my own thoughts. I wasn’t a clingy mom like mine had been; my husband and I had encouraged independence and exploration. We wanted our boys to forge their paths, find partners, and pursue careers. Knowing that an empty nest was on the horizon, I had even begun reviving my freelance writing career to fill the hours I would soon have.
Then it hit me. For the past two decades, I had defined myself as a mom—working mom, soccer mom, boys’ mom. My identity revolved around my children. While my husband was a great father, I was the one managing schedules, attending meetings, and planning family events. I willingly sacrificed opportunities to prioritize my boys, wanting to provide them the love and stability I had missed growing up.
Now, it was time to let my youngest son step into his future, while I faced the reality of quieter evenings at home. It was time for me to shift my focus back to my husband and myself, to explore new hobbies or beginnings as many articles suggested.
As we navigated through the crowd of parents, siblings, and relatives after the ceremony, I realized I wasn’t ready for this milestone, but my son was. He deserved this celebration, especially after a year where he hadn’t even set foot in a high school classroom.
So, I reminded myself to prioritize his needs over my own. “Have a great time at the party, sweetie!” I said after snapping a few photos and bidding him goodbye. He handed me his cap, gown, and diploma in a messy pile.
As my husband and I walked to the car, I looked back at the parents capturing their last moments, their images fading into the dusk, voices drowned out by the cicadas. I smiled, thinking it was fitting that these insects, which had last emerged when my younger son took his first steps, were here to witness his transition into this next phase of life.
Once inside the car, I finally allowed myself to cry.