The Anti-Graduations

Five years ago, Logan's little class graduated from preschool. Of course, he wasn't there with them because he'd died a few months earlier, but I went anyway. I remember sitting on a rickety bench outside the back door of the classroom, sobbing uncontrollably because he wasn't there and because I didn't have a little graduate to celebrate. I was so envious of the other proud parents and grandparents who, one by one, passed me by as they entered for the ceremony. One stopped to offer up a lingering hug. A few others sent pitying looks in my direction. Some seemed to pretend that I wasn't there at all, and truth be told, I felt like I didn't belong; like I was sullying their happy occasion with my presence. I never could muster the wherewithall to go inside, so eventually, as the little graduates collected their little diplomas, I slipped silenty away. It's not an easy day to remember and it's a memory that I tend to stuff when my heart summons it from the cobwebs of my mind.

But tonight I'm letting myself remember, because Friday will mark another milestone that's not happening: the completion of elementary school. It seems weird to think about him moving on to middle school since he never even got the chance to begin kindergarten. It breaks me to realize that though I will keenly feel his absence, almost none of his would've-been classmates will know a thing about him. They won't know how funny he was or how he danced or how he was obsessed with all-things automotive or how his big sister was his best friend in the world. I can say "well, it's their loss" but the reality is that it's my loss. It's our loss. No one else knows what they missed.

So I'll stay far away from that ceremony on Friday. I'll look away when I see the giggling girls in their dresses and the boys looking uncomfortable in their quasi-formal mom-made-me-wear-this-stuff finery. I won't cry where anyone can see me. That day will be hard. But like I got through the littlest graduation ceremony, I'll get through this one, too.