He’s 18

Today is my son’s eighteenth birthday. Time had methodically passed, as it always does, and yet I still was a bit surprised by it. In my day to day life I have a blissful ignorance of milestones like these. The last time I counted down to anything was probably fourth grade. I’m generally not good with long term tracking. And so her we are eighteen years after his arrival.

He’s my youngest one. I have an oldest and a youngest. I was heartbroken when my daughter left for college because she was the first. I will be heartbroken when he leaves because he will be my last. I tried not to think about it too much because I would get teary at work.

I have his card in my bag. I’m on the express train so that we can take him out to dinner at a reasonable hour. I’m not sure what he feels about his own birthday. Historically they have been a little weird and inconsistent. He’s been sick. We’ve been snowed in. He’s been in trouble so bad that it just didn’t happen. This year will likely be the last that we celebrate as a family. If he can finance college, he will be at school for his birthday. We’ll have to figure out a way to make things work for communication and more.

For now I will try not to cry through the rest of the day.