"taleS froM the trencheS

National Guard wife blogging about her adventures with three sons and the unexpected joys of Smith-Magenis Syndrome (SMS)
....um, yes. They are tears of joy. Really.

Our Squad

Our Squad

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Graduation Sunday: Touching moments with my son

There is something about the end of the school year that marks the passage of time more harshly than birthdays or New Year’s.   A cruel reminder of how much time has passed since I graduated and how few years are left before my boys are grown men. 

At last Sunday's service, we celebrated those who have graduated from high school or college.   They get called to the front of the church and asked to share their accomplishments and future plans.  Inevitably, my mind becomes a human calculator.  I can’t balance my checkbook, yet I can subtract years and compare dates at the speed of light.  (That would be 299, 792, 458 m / s.)

I recall standing there for my high school graduation; when the one college graduate’s mother was pregnant with her.   Then, I remember that those high school kids where younger than Garrett is now that summer I was their pregnant bible school teacher.  It hits me that in exactly ten years my youngest son will be 18 and graduating from high school.

I stop doing the math. 

I look down at my youngest with his Alfalfa-Hair sticking up at the crown of his head. We were the only McGrevys at church that Sunday and he had my undivided attention.  That kind of attention is rare when you have a special needs sibling and he seemed to be enjoying every minute of it. 

After small gifts were presented to the graduates, they remained standing while we sang to them.  That is a fairly new tradition and it must be excruciating.  But they made me feel old, so I had no sympathy. 

The hymn began:

I was there to hear your borning cry,

I'll be there when you are old.

I rejoiced the day you were baptized,

to see your life unfold.

“This song always makes me cry,” I whispered.  The boy’s eyes bulged and his face paled at the full weight of that statement.

She’s going to start bawling and Dad’s not here.

 “Do you want me to go get you a tissue?” he tried to leave the pew.

I grabbed his arm.

“Sit down.  I’m fine.”

I smiled, yet he seemed unconvinced.

If you find someone to share your time

and you join your hearts as one,

I'll be there to make your verses rhyme,

from dusk 'till rising sun.

He started to pat my arm.  Actually, it was very similar to the way he pets Pongo Elmo McGrevy, the youngest member of our family. But I thought it was sweet.

When the evening gently closes in,

and you shut your weary eyes,

I'll be there as I have always been,

with just one more surprise.

It is easier to hold your emotions back when two big blue eyes are staring you down, waiting for your head to explode.  For the first time in history, I did not cry during that hymn. 

The graduates returned to their seats.  I didn’t dare look at their mothers.

My son leaned over and whispered, “Remember when I was born?”

I put my arm around him and pulled him close.  I nodded, afraid to talk and ruin my tearless accomplishment.

He leaned over and whispered again, “Was I covered in blood?”

Gross.  I’m not sure I can last another ten years.

Here is a you-tube recording of the song. Go ahead and listen without crying. I dare ya!

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