Last night was the end of the year celebration for our local homeschool co-op. Since we won’t be returning to this particular group next year, it was a bittersweet, flashback kind of thing that left us with a pulled-tooth ache.
For us, it was the culmination of three years of learning, growing, and walking with other like-minded parents and kids after having lived abroad in relative homeschool isolation for the previous three years. In a way, this season in community would help to rehabilitate us, though we couldn’t have known that when we started.
The kids received their fancy certificates dressed in leftover Easter clothes because I’m determined that they get more than one wear out of them. We took pictures, ate brownies, and reminisced with other parents who have taken this road less traveled. Some of the moms looked fresh and eager, but more looked tired, like we’d run a marathon, and then applied lipstick to sweaty lips on the way here.
Life is a series of chapters (it’s true, even if it is a giant cliche and there’s violin music playing in the background). Just when you’ve gotten past the tentative beginning of a thing, after you’ve forged through the spiral griefs and joys of its interminable middle, you find yourself at the end, and you aren’t ready, though you saw it coming five pages ago.
This is how it always is.
Different, same, different, same.