My foster granddaughter's mother sent five pictures of her on her first day of kindergarten. Evidently, she said, "I very love it in kindergarten". And my almost 2 1/2 year old granddaughter begins preschool in October. Big transitions. What a treat to witness them grow and brave new situations and reach out into the world. And my younger daughter is challenging herself teaching first grade. I'm pretty sure she's more nervous than either of the granddaughters, because they feel under the protection of their families, and she is old enough to know she's out there on her own. A lot of stuff comes up for us at such times. Change is hard. And no matter how many times we do it, we often forget that it gets harder before it gets better.
Today is the anniversary of a dear friend's death. He died at 46. His children were young when he died, and his wife was a widow for a dozen years before she met a man with whom she now shares her life. I haven't seen her this happy in so long. She had a long transition. She was on her own, except she had a lot of friends and family who were there for her. We're all alone in this strange way, but we can be alone with other people who know and understand that aloneness. Surviving change makes us stronger, some say, and usually that is true, but not always. We have to work to keep surviving, and I've known friends who just quit. I know my parents were fighters, and I'm grateful for that. I know what it looks like, and I'm biochemically predisposed to meet the challenges. I'm fortunate.
None of us knows what the future holds for us. And it doesn't do much good to rake over the past. We've got this moment, and feeling grateful for it makes it come alive. And in this moment reside images of these little ones jumping the hurdles, and those who met a hurdle they couldn't overcome. They're all here, with me, now, alive, and honored.
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