The magnitude of what happened yesterday is just beginning to catch up.
My kid did what no one expected him to do.
And he did it better than I did (GPA .5 better than mine) and in the same timeframe as his peers.
And he has his brother talking about when it’s his turn (not if. WHEN).
He’s working out the what next part. This may take a while, but that’s okay—even he was surprised at how quickly he did it.
Damn. This is a lot.
My younger guy graduated from my alma mater today.
Lots to figure out, but that’s a tomorrow problem.
Mr. Spiky Cognitive Profile
Mr. ADHD
Mr. Space Cookie
My slow processor. The one they couldn’t say for certain if he had TBI at birth or not.
The one they said probably wouldn’t be able to do academic work…..
….is graduating with his same-age peers with a higher GPA than I had.
(I have no excuse)
Of course, this means nothing if he isn’t able to get a job because he can’t pass the interview process. Or….a million other things. The grief of the things that may never happen for my guys is real.
But I will not let grief take away the joy of the things that somehow do happen.
Keep looking for the bluebirds, rainbows, and silver linings.
My accidental bird. We were his fourth home. He was 25 when we picked him up from a friend at the brewery last April. I knew the clock was ticking, but whatever time he had, we were going to make it good.
He’s the only bird since Paulie who would allow skritches, but like Paulie, he was flightless, so put up with it til he launched himself off my lap, letting me know he was done.
Today I took a moment while I was cleaning the bird room. He hung out with me as long as he felt like it. I gave him skritches. I didn’t intuit an ending.
An hour or so later, Gary was trying to pick a play out of him, and I tried to rescue him. He launched himself as he has dozens of times, but this time, he landed wrong, and I knew as soon as he did that it was bad. I scooped him up quickly (cursing myself, how could I miss him?) and held him close. And he closed his eyes and was gone.
His little face was peaceful. I sat with him for over an hour, talking to him and giving him skritches.
He was such a good boy.
Younger graduates from Temple in 3 weeks.
I said what I said.
Elder will not. Not yet. He celebrated 10 years at his job this month, certainly longer than I’ve been anywhere and has a side gig he’s trying to get off the ground.
That’s all I have for now.
Also, George died two months ago, suddenly. I brought home a young bird last night—Butters—who is getting acclimated.
I finish year 2 of my program and am building my committee.
One thing at a time. I am way overwhelmed.
It’s no lie, I like shiny things. I collect them until I realize I can’t wear it all, and not everything suits me.
So when elder decided to buy into lots of jewelry from estate sales in hopes of scoring big, the net result was four gallon-size freezer bags of stuff he couldn’t do anything with.
He was fairly salty about this enterprise.
So I offered him about 2/3 of what he paid for the whole lot and did some scavenging. While I didn’t find anything of value, I found a lot of fun things that made me think of particular people in my life. I ended up creating a bunch of gift bundles, some directed at particular individuals, and the rest will go to ladies’ night at the brewery. The rest I handed off to a friend who has a knack for rebuilding and repurposing jewelry. She will have a lot to keep her busy.
I gift wrapped a bunch of things this morning.
I also did all the baking on Friday. My semester is at an end, and I am scrambling to do all the things I didn’t have time for the last 14 or so weeks. While I am enjoying the journey of the program, I am starting to think seriously about the next steps, what dissertation will look like, who I can talk to about that.
Younger will graduate in the spring. I can’t see beyond that right now for him.
Elder is plugging along. He wants to stay where he is employment-wise and is considering side hustles that might support him while he’s doing that.
I’m just hoping for the best, as always.
On the way out the door this morning, I broke my water bottle.
I was juggling my coffee cup, water tumbler, lunch, computer bag and pocketbook in an attempt to make a single trip to the car, and I somehow lost a grip on the water bottle. I heard it crack as it hit. The bottle is hard plastic, been dropped a million times, but I think this time, it just hit the wrong place on the bottle, and caught a corner of the step. G received this bottle as a parting gift from Montco, among other things, and I was happy to use it, because of all the good things connected with that experience.
So when I went to retrieve it, and saw that it was cracked, my eyes welled up with tears.
Because it was more than being about the water bottle—and this led to a chain-reaction of revelations that spiraled a little bit, splashing across my current class regarding theories of learning frameworks, philosophical arguments with my younger son about the train table divestiture, and my own meditations on hoarding and why we hold onto broken things.
We hold onto things because it’s our only tangible proof that good things happened, that good people exist, and because of these things there are reasons to hope for the future.
I think this is part of the reason why I have such a hard time going through my sons’ old artwork and school work, because there is so much bad mixed in with everything that is good that it puts me in an existential crisis every. Damn. Time.
I know some of those reasons for hanging onto broken things, too, are generational strongholds; want, depression, war, hanging on to things because they may have use or value.
Or hanging onto things because they are the only things remaining of someone who is gone.
There is so much we store in our hearts, but we need physical proof. There are things that have left that we want back, but aren’t coming back.
But here is this broken thing that is proof that it existed.
