I never thought I'd be that kind of parent. The one who cries at his kid's graduation, who mourns the passing of an era, who spends misty days looking backward. When my kids were little, this day seemed so far away that it was forever. Some days, it seemed like the Promised Land - something whispered about by my elders but a place I never truly believed I would see. The days together seemed limitless.
As a matter of fact, they aren't. We all know intellectually that the days with all of our loved ones are finite. In this case, I've had 6824 days being Cameron's dad up to the day he graduates high school. On day 6826, he'll leave home to work at his beloved wilderness camp as a counselor for the summer. On his return in late August, he will have less than 24 hours before he leaves for college. Then, though we'd all like to believe it's not the case, life will change - probably forever. I did the same drill when I graduated high school and never even visited home for more than 3 weeks at a time the rest of my life. (Sorry, Mom and Dad.)
6824. It's a large number. How many days have passed by without my even noting them? How many days have I barely noticed passing in close proximity to my son? How many have I ended exasperated or exhausted? How many have I savored? I'll never know. I haven't lost count. I never started counting.
6824. It's a small number, a fraction of what I now want. I want to have those casual times of being in the same space, throwing a frisbee together, laughing about an inside joke, listening and re-listening to a piece of music. I want more of those rare talks that happen on a walk or a drive. I want those moments where I learn from him and where I may be able to share a thing or two back. I want to be in close enough proximity that I know what's going on, that I really know him instead of just knowing about him.
My niece is in town for the graduation festivities with her husband and their 1-year-old son. Watching him play and walk around the same house where Cameron grew from tot to adult is like looking backward in time through the wrong end of a telescope.
I'm not one of those parents who cries at his kid's graduation. I'm one of those parents who cries before the graduation, gets misty during it, and will feel wistful for days afterward.