In only a few short hours we will be in the stands at RCC waiting for the sounds of "Pomp and Circumstance" to fill the air, watching a sea of blue gowned graduates of John W. North High School as they file in to receive their diplomas. Somewhere in that group will be our youngest child, Chloe. And somewhere watching from above will be Linda, who wanted more than life itself to see her baby graduate.
Every time we saw any doctor, any ER, anyone who was involved in her fight against pulmonary fibrosis Linda would beg them to find a way to let her see Chloe graduate. It got to the point that I had to step away. I knew she could not last that long. I saw the illness advancing in its ugly insidious way. But that didn't matter to Linda. Chloe was her baby. She wanted to be there. She was in the front row for kindergarten graduation. Missing high school was not an option. It even went on the bucket list. That damnable list of things I needed to do after she died. I am still not done. And in a way, I am grateful. Because still working in it means Linda is still an active part of our lives. Especially mine.
We fought for Chloe's education. We tried every school system, every option. We went to meetings. We sent her to private schools, charter schools. We did it all. We wanted her to be able to fly when the time came. I've kept it up since Linda's death. Up to this week we have waited on one teacher for a grade to signal graduation is happening. I've gone to bed and to the cemetery talking to Linda about how much this has taken.
Then I look at Chloe. And I am stunned. Thirteen years ago she was an awkward five year old joining our family. She met Kerry for the first time wearing Kerry's princess crown. The entire elementary school new that Kerry was getting a sister that day, and that Trevor and Kelsey were getting a cousin. Now she is a beautiful, smart, talented young adult. She has an edge that works for her. She has a plan. (yes, it keeps changing, but she's 17. Any plan is a good thing. It signals ambition.). Our little princess who used to play in the dirt with her toy dump truck is now afraid of spiders and can look 25 if she wants to. Our child who never met the family before placement and memorized the extended family is now planning another road trip with the grandma she also helps with shopping at Costco. And the child who lost the Mama she loved most in this world is graduating tomorrow without Mama in the stands.
She will have her tribe there. Her village. Grandma, me, Casper, Kerry, Charity, Katrina, Kelly, Jeremy, Cody, Jackson, Vanessa, and the newest member Hayley. Kelley is also graduating. The bff's have finished together. But Mama will not be there to grab her afterward. Boyfriends are great, but they are not Mama. Every major life event will forevermore be tinged with the absence of Linda. For all of us. Each of us will try to play part of that role, but nobody can be Peter Pan. Nobody can say "Nubbins" like Linda. And none of us can make that hole better or less empty.
So when the orchestra starts to play at 6pm my Kleenex will be ready. And I will know Linda is there. Because she would never, ever, in a million years, miss her Nubbins' graduation. And I will make sure Chloe knows it. We will celebrate Chloe afterward, and we will make Linda a part of it. Because just because someone died does not mean they are not still there, and a part of those life changing moments in our lives.
Chloe and Linda on Mama's Spyder motorcycle.
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