Somewhere beneath the plow piles, my perennials sleep. Or perhaps their green limbs stretch towards the light, as they wake from their winter slumber. A four-foot blanket of snow still sits atop my gardens, holding the green hues of Spring at bay.
As much as I love snow, I'm ready for a shift of seasons-- but winter doesn't want to let go. Last week, it snowed two feet in a day, sending us all home from school early. And though the sun stays out longer each evening, the persistence of snow and ice prevails.
Somewhere in the distance, summer calls, with all her verdant warmth and endless light. Flowers and grass don't seem possible, but they await.
We will get there....
This has been a hard school year for Elias. A new teacher who is a far cry from his beloved Ms. Gal. A new schedule. My boy who doesn't like change.
He is technically no longer a boy, but a young man. He graduates this Spring, and yet he is not a typical 18-19-year-old ready to take on the world.
When asked what he wants to do next, he replies, "I don't know."
(And yes, I get that "I don't know" is a typical teen mantra to just about everything, and so this response makes him more normal than not, but he's not just saying it, he--and we-- really don't know.)
The upcoming graduation ceremony feels bitter sweet. For me, at least, Elias wants to invite everyone he knows to watch him walk across the stage.
And maybe the bitterness comes from knowing he is not truly a graduate into the independent realm, and will most likely, hopefully, return to school till he's twenty-one, and then continue to live at home with us, or maybe, eventually, in a group supported living situation, indefinitely....
Most likely, hopefully, maybe, eventually.
So many unknowns.
This transition to adulthood brings a whole new crop of questions, uncertainties, and paperwork.
As Elias's legal guardians, we now have to submit yearly reports to the court documenting all his appointments and expenses. He is my child; I am not in the habit of parcelling out and documenting what I pay for his food, clothes, and extra-curricular activities.
Can't I just love him?
Even love feels complicated these days, as he lashes out un-expectantly, or sits on the couch ignoring every request. No longer my adorable, sweet, impish boy but a hairy, stinky, pimply young man who still needs assistance with basic self-care.
Parenthood is no joke.
Or maybe its one big practical joke on those who imagined nothing but teddybears and lullabies. Parenthood is more like an epic novel, filled with tragedy, heroism, and the occasional appearance of an angry god.
But we must persevere, keep turning the pages, stay in the story, even when we don't know what comes next. Especially then.
Even Olive has crossed a threshold, from kid to teenager, from a girl who didn't brush her hair to a young woman aware of her reflection, from a staple on our living room couch to a transient spending more time in her room with the door closed.
Where will this story lead? What adventures await? Where will the setting take us? Will the gods and goddesses spare us? Will there be a happy ending?
Most likely, hopefully, maybe, eventually.
So many unknowns.
Change is inevitable, this I know.
Those snow piles atop my gardens will melt. Green shoots will break through the frozen soil. The impossible will emerge in the shape of a bloom ready to open.
Colors will abound where once we only saw black and white. Somehow, someday, we will get there...
Until the seasons change, yet again.