I just this second hit “send” and placed the order for the high school graduation announcements of my last child. We will take him in tomorrow to be fitted for a classic black tux for his Senior Prom, to which he will go in two weeks. As I type this, I can hear his handsome, lanky self in the other room, sprawled out on the couch, playing a loud, fuzzy, awesome “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult on his Gibson electric guitar. It was just five seconds ago that I held his 4 pound, premature self for the very first time in the ICU at Valley Children’s Hospital in Fresno, California, he and I sitting in a rocking chair together, rocking and watching live as OJ slowly made his way down the 405 in his white Bronco. True crime. True love. I was in utter and complete bliss.
Now that serious little cerebral bean in my arms drives, devours science fiction, argues politics (AND HOW), has a gorgeous ballerina girlfriend, and wants to make films. My first and only son. My last baby. The beautiful boy that I love above all others. Now he is a man.
Goddamn, it doesn’t take long to live a life.
And now…his truly begins.