Lately, I catch myself pausing to sneak glimpses of him.

As if maybe I could soak him up enough to make letting go next fall a little easier.

This good-natured, introspective son of mine—sandwiched between his two sisters—turns eighteen at the end of the month.

I can’t get used to how much older he’s starting to look, especially the past few months. His hair has grown out since his senior pictures were taken in the fall. I love how it now wings out a little on the sides when he wears a hat.

I couldn’t be more proud of this guy. He works hard and moves through life with integrity. And like every teenager in this country has been called to do, he has risen to the challenge during these exceedingly weird, uncertain, pandemicky times that will forever mark his final bow to the K-12 years.

I’m so truly excited about the countless and wonderful possibilities ahead for him. But I thought the count-down to his high school graduation would be emotionally easier on me than when I tumbled through it with his older sister two years ago. One would think by round two, I’d be a little more tough-skinned.

Sure, I may have gained some basic footwork and defense. But overall, I feel like a novice in a boxing ring getting jabbed and uppercut by mixed emotions all over again.

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During my elementary school years, our family lived in a red brick house on a small lake.

As soon as that lake would freeze over, my slew of siblings and I’d bundle up and go shovel away the weighted or fluffy layers of snow to create a large rink. Then we’d skate ’til our fingers and toes went numb!

I particularly loved going out there in the evenings after dinner. With a comforting beauty etched in time, the light of the moon and the stars, along with the glow of living room lamps shining through our big window, guided our path.

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Hi. It’s been a while. How have you been?

Me? Oh, I don’t know. It’s kinda hard to say.

As the months have dragged on during this global pandemic with all of our lives flipped upside down in various degrees, my answer to that often generically asked question has felt a bit of reach. It’s as if, at some point, my ability to discern how I’m truly doing in the midst of this surreal reality fled deep into the woods, down a hill, and across a hazy ravine.

And I don’t feel like chasing it.

I don’t feel like writing about it either. Not today anyway.

Today I’d much prefer to write about this season’s fragrances of the earth, colors of scarlet and gold, whispering rustles of leaves, pumpkins growing fat and large, Sweet Tango apples dipped in caramel sauce, crockpots bubbling with hearty homemade stew, and my 9th grader’s virtual back-to-school scavenger hunt!

Let’s start with the virtual back-to-school scavenger hunt. But first I’ll give a quick rundown on what back to school currently looks like in our household.

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Well, so, here we are. That time of year when the Sun crosses the celestial equator and those of us in the northern hemisphere begin tilting toward the sun.

Thanks to some super smart, left-brained people, we know the Vernal Equinox will occur this year on March 19. And also thanks to those people, we know this is the earliest occurrence in 124 years.

Typically, in the days and weeks following this official launch into spring, the general population is filled with extra endorphins from the warm sun shining upon our faces. Then we pour out into streets and festivals and restaurants and theatres and campuses smiling, laughing, hugging, kissing, throwing frisbees, and maybe even playing guitar with the thrill of new beginnings in the air.

But we all know nothing is typical right now.

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“It’s 8:15 on a Sunday morning. I’m still in bed feeling groggy. Most days, I’m downstairs at my little wooden desk, drinking coffee, reflecting, writing, grounding myself for the day by 6 a.m. But ever since the craziness of the holidays, my inner clock and energy levels have been a little wacky.

Ding! goes my phone sitting on the nightstand, alerting me of a new text.

Oscar, curled up at my feet licking the bedspread like it’s ham, looks up. His tail is wagging as if he knows the text is from his cuddle buddy—the other human who sometimes sleeps in this bed when not working overnight shifts in the ER. That would be Mike, my husband for nearly a quarter of a century.

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