I had planned to write weekly about being the mom of a senior.
(While I do have a twenty-one year old, Chaz's senior year was different, wrought with glory and pain of a different sort because he has cognitive disabilities and we were not planning on launching him out into the world right away.)
I had no idea how gut wrenching Caleb's senior year was going to be. How often I was going to cry and pull it together, all in under a minute, and manage to exit my car to interact with co-workers or friends on a non-hysterical level.
I had no idea how much time my son and I would spend together, planning, thinking, commiserating laughing, praying and REVISING:)
I had no idea how much pain would be brought up from my own lonely and dismal entry into college and struggle to finish.
I had no idea how an old battle with death anxiety would rear its ugly head. How when I listen to any heinous incident on the news, my son's image appears in the place of the true victim and then, it replays on loop mode until I rebuke it!
I had no idea how funny, resourceful and confident my son was without me standing behind him, urging him on.
I had no idea how much I was gonna hate that stupid "Cup Song" and all those insipid country songs about kids growing up that are plotting against me and my sanity.
So, here it is, my new mantra:
Hello, My name is Tamitha Barbosa Curiel and I am the mother of senior.
I have 45 days of senior year under my belt. And roughly, 238 days to go.
This is hard. This is an adventure. This is incredibly sad. This is oddly wonderful.
This is an amazing honor. Thank you, Lord.