I take a right on Galbraith Road as the opening notes of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” play against the faint crackle of static from the Dayton radio station. Still close enough to come in, but far away enough to not be completely clear. Instantly my heart twinges and I can feel the emotions start to bubble up as I remember my mom singing along to Patsy on the way to taking me to school. She loved that song. Still does, I’m quite sure, even though she is 3,000 miles away. I cross Kenwood and slow past the hospital, thinking this is the first of many lasts. I am on my way to pick up Ezra on their last first day of high school, the last of my three kids, the last one to need my driver’s license as their ticket to freedom before they launch on their own. 

As I pull into the parking lot of Leaves of Learning, I find myself reading my Facebook memories and seeing them through the years, all their funny quips and goofy selfies, and feeling unbelievably sad that I only have one year left. I want to remember every precious moment with them, as few and far between as they are, with our custody agreement and their work and school schedule. I remember when I found out I was pregnant with Ez, I realized I would be 48 when I would be done raising kids. It seemed so far away at the time, as I had two toddlers at my feet, a belly swollen with pregnancy, and an interstate move in progress. I was overwhelmed then, and 18 years seemed like a lifetime. 

My life looks a lot different now than it did at 31, and the days when they were young were so incredibly long. But man, do they just keep coming. And coming. And suddenly it’s been 5, 10, and now 18 years. We still have their senior year to get through, but I remember all too well that once school starts suddenly it’s my birthday, then Halloween, then Christmas, then Valentine’s Day, then Spring Break, and then graduation. While I am forcing myself to hold back from becoming that overly involved mom who just wants to hold onto their kid’s last year of childhood, I want to bottle every memory moment and post them on Facebook to remind me of them every year! 

Ez rounds the corner by the gym and smiles and waves excitedly as they see me waiting for them in Operetta, the red Kia Soul that will become their own once they pass their driver’s exam next spring. They had a good day, an easy one with Rebel Reads (an ELA banned books class), Math Help, and French Cooking. They have amazing classes this year, and I know they will grow leaps and bounds toward their independence this year, just like their sisters before them. We hit 71, thankful for no traffic because of the early release with Ez not having a final bell on Tuesdays and Thursdays. They snack on the crunchy grapes I brought and we talk about how they missed morning meeting because Ms. Deschene forgot to take the class down to the multipurpose room and the only reason the administrators realized it was because they asked the seniors to stand up and they realized half of them were missing and were in ELA. I turn into their neighborhood and tell them I will pick them up at 4:45 for work. They climb out of the car, thank me for the ride as they do every time, and go inside their dad’s house for the last first time. 

I pull away and head the 4 miles toward my house, and turn the radio up as Neil Diamond sings, “Song Sung Blue.” Eighteen years. It went by in a heartbeat. I have so many beautiful memories, I can’t be mad at how fast it went. If I start to get sad about it, Neil just reminds me, “Funny thing, but you can sing it with a cry in your voice/And before you know, it started feeling good/You simply got no choice.”