Just a short time ago, I excitedly showed up to Parent Preview for JD’s Freshman year.  It had rained that day, so we weren’t able to use the field.  Instead, we all came with our camping chairs, set up along side the range they use to practice on, and while a light drizzle fell off and on, I listened to the finished product of his first band camp.  They struck up The Horse for the first time, and with watery eyes, I tried hard to not miss a single note. I sat there fully aware that this time would fly by. At least I thought I was aware.

You can’t fully realize, until the moment you watch them march out of the stadium for the last time at home, just how quickly it passes.

I watched him march in last night and instead of taking the stands, he and all the other Seniors, turned right to go onto the field and meet their families. We waited pre-game to proudly stand there and listen while the announcer went down the line and talked about each Senior and some of their accomplishments.  I’m proud of my son, and his accomplishments, but I’m proud for him.  You see, those accomplishments are his and I just celebrate them. Although, his step mom should get credit for his higher math and science. Seriously. =)

Senior Night. It had arrived.

I tried hard to stay in the moment, knowing that on this part of our journey if you get too far outside the moment, your emotions can get the best of you.  For those who haven’t been here, I can say that I am not sad.  It’s not a feeling of sadness.  It’s more a feeling of nostalgia.  There are few times in life when you can so clearly see that things are changing, and this is one of them. Ready or not.  You hold on.  You let go.  You look up and somehow what you’ve been working for all these years has happened.  I look up into the face of a young man, and know that these are the days we have been preparing for since he was born.

This is a year of lasts, and you can’t help but think of the firsts.

As I stood there on the field with his dad and step mom, I thought again about how thankful I am for our relationship.  I can tell you that nobody in this world wants better things for that young man than the three of us. While we still would have gotten to this moment, it wouldn’t nearly have been so seamless without the three of us being able to work towards the common goal of raising JD. We laughed. We took pictures. We hugged him, and it was time to take to the stands.

The moment came, and halftime was here. His last show at home. It finally turned off chilly last night, perfect football weather. The Showband took the field, and right there in the spotlight of stadium lights, while the home crowd cheered on, and I felt myself tear up, he did it one last time from the top.

I sent JD’s band director a message last week because I wanted him to know how thankful I am that JD had this experience. You see, we are in a program known for winning awards, but as I told him, there are things awards just can’t quantify. Awards can’t measure the pride a child has leaving the field, the friendships, or the memories made. Awards can’t show a crowd standing on their feet with tears in their eyes. Awards can’t show the progression of an unsure Freshman to the Senior trumpet section leader he is today. While awards can’t show those things, my memories will always hold them. There’s no other program I would rather have had him a part of. Period.

 

In some ways, looking back, all too soon the clock was at 00:00. We had won the ball game, and the band struck up The Horse one last time. With watery eyes, I held my phone to video, and tried not to miss a single note. I’ve heard that song played in that stadium countless times now, but nothing beats the first time….until it’s the last.

They filed out of the stands, I snapped a few pictures, and he marched out.

Last night another page was slowly turned, and we came to the end of this chapter. But, as with all good stories, we look forward with great anticipation to the next.

Holding on to the memories. Letting go to watch him fly.

This is a beautiful life.