Like anyone who spends lots of time on social media, I’ve been drowning in that combo of prom pics, Mother’s Day tributes, and graduations that comes around every year at this time. I love all that stuff. Some of these kids look like superstars in their prom ‘fits. Most of the things people post for Mother’s Day just melt me. It’s always been kind of a complicated holiday for me, but I live for the sweetness and the sentimentality of other people’s stories. And graduations – preschool through college – are something I can never get enough of. So far this year I’ve seen a little dude finish up his preschool career, a woman who’d been told she’d never be able to cut college finish up med school, and a guy hugging his whole family as he scooped his bachelor’s degree. How can you not celebrate all of this, even though these are people you’ll probably never meet? It’s an avalanche of happy news. Even knowing how carefully managed most lives on social media are, the real joy in moments like these can’t be filtered or edited. You can see shining on every face.
But this is a tough time of year, too. I read a post written by a mom who was attending her son’s high school commencement. Well, it would have been his commencement, had they not lost their boy. But there those parents were, cheering on their late son’s friends, celebrating a milestone that for them, wasn’t about chapters closing and new beginnings. For them it was one more hard goodbye, another in an endless chain of letting go, again and again.
I’m not trying to make anyone sad. It’s just – sometimes we don’t look at the people standing at the edges of the party. The people who don’t get to embarrass their kids by asking for just one more group pic of everyone looking so awesome in their prom clothes. The people who don’t get to open big, sappy greeting cards on Mother’s Day – and maybe don’t have anyone to give that card to either. The parents whose kids don’t get awards and prizes and scholarships and chances to study abroad in Madrid or London. The parents who won’t ever get to make a weepy spectacle of themselves as the class of whatever year marches into the auditorium. We don’t have a word for that, or a day for that, or even a way to acknowledge that. And because we don’t know what to say, we often don’t say anything at all.
Big, big love to all the people who struggle with these annual late spring milestones. Who don’t have any pics to post or parties to throw. We may be awkward and stumbling over our words, but we see you.
One of the things love most about you, Sheri: no matter what, you’re always looking out for the left-out among us! Love you, girl.
Well done Sheri as always you know what to say, very kind and optimistic, love it.💜
Beautifully written Sheri. I love how you always do your best to include everyone. You are always thinking of everyone else and how to make them feel better and included. You truly are one of the most thoughtful and kind humans I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Love ya, Regina