It all may be okay.

Already over

The thought that kept ocurring to me on the trip to move Tre into his dorm room was, "I can't believe it's over."

Not the trip, of course. The trip went on forever. Tre and I drove down to Arizona, two days of driving punctuated by a very nice overnight stay with my Aunt Lavern and Uncle Paul. Then Clay and Sophia flew into Phoenix to meet us, and after we left Tre in his new home, the three of us drove back through the night in one long trip. I sort of thought that trip would never end.

No, I couldn't believe that this part of Tre's life is over. The part where I'm the parent who is parenting, instead of the one who did that already. His childhood. It's actually over.


Last week I took the kids to a Wash Park, a big and beautiful park downtown. We lived near there when Max was born, and it became an important place to the boys. For a long time, every Fall we'd make the trip downtown to see the leaves and play in the park and eat Chinese food from a nearby hole-in-the-wall restaurant of deliciousness. 

When we were there, the boys got out a frisbee and started tossing it around. A tiny little five year old boy named Fransisco trotted up and asked if he could play. I watched them showing him how to hold the frisbee, praising his efforts, laughing along with him, genuinely and kindly, when he improvised methods of tossing the disc. 


Just moments ago, Tre was that goofy five year old, and now he's the adult. It's actually over. How did it end so fast? 

When we said goodbye, it was in a parking garage next to his dorm. I handed him a box of tissues, because he didn't have one in his room, and it's what I do. Did. It's what I did. He hugged me, and my breath caught with a moment of panic. It's really over? It's really over. 

"I am so proud of you," I said, "and I can't wait to see what you do. And I will miss you, but I will be fine. Go have fun. Some of the fun. A measured portion of fun."

Clay hugged him, his own eyes bright with tears. "Have all the fun, buddy. Mom will be fine. You'll be fine. We love you." 

Sophia hugged him, then turned and leaped into the van, curling up in her car seat. She sat motionless for a moment, hugging her knees, then a wail escaped her. 

She, too, was surprised.


These two are going to miss each other.

During the drive home, whenever Clay was driving, I was glued to my phone, reading news about Robin Williams' death. Seems impossible, still. I spent a ridiculous amount of time thinking about which of his movies I should rewatch first. We recently got Dead Poet's Society from Netflix, but I was the only one who really wanted to watch it, and I didn't have the energy to push through everyone else's apathy about it, and we sent it back, eventually. Now I feel like I missed it.

What I'm missing is the chance to sit down to a new Robin Williams' film, to ride the wave of his improv and be completely surprised where he's taken me. I just figured there would be more. I didn't realize it would end so soon.

When I drove, it was in the night. Clay fell asleep, and then Sophia did too. I watched the moon rise in front of me as I neared Albuquerque, then turned away from it to head toward Colorado. It was the second night of the Perseid Meteor Shower, and every so often a streak of light would flash past in the sky. It was always surprising, and I would point at it, involuntarily, as though there were anyone who could watch it with me. Even though by the time I raised my hand, the light was gone completely.

Look, I wanted to say, Look. It was so beautiful, and it's already over. 


Holly Gault

Oh, you! You surprised me! That was… beautiful.


Sad and beautiful. :o/


I'm looking to you. My middle two get lost in back to school frenzy as my focus is on my kindergartner and senior start back to school in the next weeks. That juxtaposition of an ending and a beginning. I wonder how I am going to survive. My senior had his pictures done Wednesday, I was continuously wiping my eyes-was I the only mother present struggling with my shooting star beginning this furious last race across the sky? Where did it all go? How badly have I failed? How do I cram the 2786387634872634 things I still want to do into this last year?
So I look to you. You got through this week. Somehow. Maybe there's a chance for me too...


And just like that, the fact that my children may never leave me suddenly seems... not so bad. ;) Love you, lady.


When my children were small and I was trying my hardest to get them to leave somewhere without them having a meltdown, I always told them 'we can't come back unless we leave'. Yesterday when my daughters were leaving after an incredibly short visit home they threw that cute little saying back at me. I so wish that just staying was an option. For all of us.


Oh, my. That last paragraph. Incandescent. My first one doesn't launch for a year, but I'm already sniffling, here, in recognition and anticipation, but also for you. Beautiful.

Angela Giles Klocke

Stop it. You know this is the beautifully sad land I've been living in. I cannot take up residence in yours too! Gah! *sniffle, sniffle*

Amma Dude

It seems so unfair - they can finally cook a meal, do the dishes, tie their own shoes, and fill the tank with gas (didn't say they do, just that they can!), and they leave!

No analogy is perfect, so I will add to your heart wrenching shooting star one - so fast, and they seem gone. But that star comes back over and over, not when you want it, but when they decide, and every time they dazzle you more. They aren't gone, just out there growing brighter and more beautiful all the time.


oh, Kira, you're behind me in the parenting, age-wise, but so far ahead in capturing those moments with such poignant beauty.
thank you


Oh, Kira! This is the most beautiful thing I've seen in ages. You pulled both of those things together with the entire universe, and I thank you for it.


We make the long drive tomorrow to take our young lady to her dorm. I agree, I can't believe it is over. Wasn't she just born yesterday?





Ok just checking on you,
in a cyber stalking kind of way
we miss you!

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