Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

Graduation. It happened, Mom. I am no longer a high-schooler. I am now a “responsible” adult. But you know what the worst part was tonight? Finding out that there is a choir officer meeting tomorrow that I’m not a part of! It’s the real kicker that after an entire year of going to every single event for choir, I am no longer wanted–or really, needed. The feeling of banishment comes to mind, though I know the real term should be “growing up” and “moving on” because while choir was such a big part of my life this year, it is still part of high school and now I am to be a college student. I might “happen” to “accidentally” show up for a moment at the meeting… who knows?
But to get back to the big event of the night–don’t worry, I didn’t cry. On the way to the arena in the buses I pictured your smiling face (somehow the version from when you had the longer, colored hair) and if you were here, how you’d look in the pictures. You wouldn’t have stopped beaming at me the whole day. And your smile would have been that constant comfort and light to hold on to as the stress from the whole thing piled up. It was super stressful–and you know I don’t get easily stressed. Actually, I’d probably say the truly stressful part was when the row in front of me stood to walk into line. I suddenly panicked and felt sick to my stomach and in my mind I kept saying, “what’s going on, Hannah?? You’re just walking across a stage to shake a few hands.” But that didn’t help and I just finally stood as our row’s turn came and got in line. Then, it was my turn. I stood on the steps ready to cross. One of our Assistant Principals nodded and I took the first step to shake her hand. Then someone else from the school district. All I could think as I took those steps and shook those hands was, “Keep smiling. Don’t forget to smile. Oh, and stand up straight.” (Gee, Mom, thanks for drilling that into my head!) And then there was my Principal waiting to shake my hand and give me my diploma–well, fake diploma until I come in to get the real one in a couple of weeks. Keep smiling, Hannah. Keep walking. Don’t trip. Don’t forget to say “Thank you” to those whose hands you shake. Everyone asked afterward if I heard them yelling and hooting and I had to tell them I didn’t because I was so focused on smiling, stepping, and shaking hands. Finally, I was off the platform and moving on to get my picture taken. All I could think of was, “Did I stand up straight enough? If I didn’t, mom is going to get onto me–I mean, she would’ve.” Yeah, I forgot for a moment that you’re not here to scold me anymore on my posture, or anything for that matter. Kind of depressing. But it was as I finished watching the others on the screen that I almost teared up to cry because I thought of how you aren’t here to see this. To see me. To hug me tight when we find each other through the masses of people afterwards. To tell me you love me and how proud you are of all that I’ve accomplished in my short 18 years of life. To remind me that God is the reason for everything good in my life and He carries me through the bad. That was when I almost cried. But then I got distracted when a certain someone danced across the stage. And by dance, I mean do some sort of weird movement thing before finishing her walk across the stage. That brought me out of my thoughts for sure. Wish you could’ve been part of the pictures. Love you, Mom.

Your daughter,
Hannah