2015..his year

It’s quiet but for the wind rattling the Christmas ribbon he hung smack-dab in the center of the screen door… his contribution to our pitiful Christmas decorating this year. The tree, the stockings, and the nativity have been put away. For whatever reason, the ribbon is still there…flapping in the breeze.

I’m sitting watching the flames flicker on the candle he bought me for Christmas waiting for the dilapidated pick-up truck that is older than he is to pull in to the drive. Cars drive slowly by. Facebook statuses tell of the deteriorating road conditions. I sent a text to remind him to take his time coming home. He promised to do so for the sake of his mama’s happiness. And my chest grew tight because I don’t have very many more days of checking up on him.

It’s January 4 and I can barely stand writing 2015. I didn’t want to the calendar to turn over. I didn’t want to celebrate New Year’s Eve. I didn’t want to think of 2015. It wasn’t time yet.

I remember the first time I heard “Class of 2015.” We sat in the auditorium. A bunch of junior high kids and their parents learning all we apparently needed to know about high school. At that time, 2015 was over 4 years away… seemed like forever. We had lots of time.

Then the next year. Sitting in that same autitorium. Listening to the names of all the freshmen football players as they filed across the stage to get their varsity jacket numbers. He stood with the others, young and gangly, holding 15 while the seniors were the class of 2012. Still seemed like we had forever and I was glad it wasn’t time yet.

Good days and bad days have blended together to tick the days off the calendar. The years have raced past. Time waits for no mama to catch up. Ready or not, the calendar turns over to a new year. His year. It’s here. It’s time.

So many exciting things for him this year. In just a month, he’s an adult. This spring he graduates. In the summer he interns. Then in the fall, he’s off to college. Just like that.

And, in the quiet times, I pray. Much.

The rest of the time? I’m living in the moments. The moments that tighten my chest and steal my breath are the very moments that bring the greatest joy. You see, this one I prayed a long time for, he makes me proud to be his mom.

This is his year. Though I’m not quite ready, it is time. His time. So glad I get to cheer him on!

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