It’s half three in the morning. I can’t sleep. All of a sudden, I woke up with an unstoppable thirst. I drank some water then tried to sleep, no way. Emotions won’t give me peace. No, not that peace bringing a warm and happy emotion. What haunts me is something like fear, a sort of sorrow after something that came to pass and will never return. Did I felt the same way twenty-six years ago? Maybe. Finishing high school is an event that marks your memory. Come the maturity exams. You enter real life. When it’s you the one involved, you feel it in a way. When you are reliving these emotions for your child, then it’s different. This moment was planned long time ago, expected and prepared. Seems that only now I take the blow of its emotional charge. In my heart. Until now, I had no time to think about it. Had no power to think about it. And now all the fury of these contradictory feelings overwhelms me.
A slightly invigorating end of April afternoon in the city. The high school tastefully decorated with white and mauve lilies. Dresses of different cuts and colors. Bunches of flowers offered to the graduates by their families. Parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, godparents, friends… Flowers upon flowers, like at weddings. Then presents, envelops… My child received but one bunch of flowers, from us, her parents, sisters and her little brother. Our larger family is spread across Central Europe. We are all separated by good driving hours on the Autobahn.
After the flowers giving moment, we moved to the schoolyard, waiting for the farewell ballad singing classes to deal with all corridors and classrooms in the building and stroll outdoors in front of the awaiting cameras. Sure, Don was there, in position, fearing the small drops of rain that never came. Five years ago, in the very same schoolyard, we heard the principal for the first time. It was like yesterday.
I glance over at the bottom right corner of the screen, it’s half four. I cry and I write at the same time, hoping that my writing will bring serenity to my soul. But the emotional storm still looms in the background. Some mothers suffer when their children get married and leave the home. I don’t know what shall I do at that moment. Now I still have my child near me. I’m very proud of her. I wish we could offer her more, because she deserves more. Out of the hundred and thirty (or so) graduates, five (or so) received a reward of excellence, one of them was my daughter. Yes, it’s not nice to brag, but I can’t help myself. When your child is so special, it’s like you want the whole world to know. Yes, I’m proud of my baby. How she knew to prepare herself for this festive day. How beautiful she is, how wise and unpretentious and especially how obedient she is. And I’m really sorry that we can’t offer her much more than our love, our moral (mostly) and material (modest) support.
When Don caresses me, which is about all the time, he tells me that I’m a bunny. His bunny, yes, you know about that. For about a week or so, we have a “new” bunny in our family. A real rabbit this time, jumping on the grass in the garden or hiding under the bushes or trees in our backyard. One of my other daughters tells me that she studied and learned that bunnies are social animals, they need company. Seems that this “need” goes beyond the barrier of species.