His last schedule.

I saw his big grin as his long legs came through the kitchen door. His football pack draped over his shoulder, then it drops to the floor. "How was your day?" He says, "fine." He plops some sort of notebook on the table, "well, mom I am picking out my classes for next year, my final year." I heard him correctly. I know this is true. He wants to take English at our community college so he won't need English his freshman year in college. He stops to catch my glance, "I remember filling out my schedule at the end of eight grade, mom, I was thinking four more years will take forever." He and I both know this has just not been the case. The days, years, summers have simply flown by. He reassures me not to worry about what he is taking, he's got it all under control. I know this is likely the truth. As he tells me how his knee felt when he did power klings, I secretly hope he will call me often when he goes to college. I always want to be a part of his life. I remember when the nurse brought him to me at Baptist hospital. I can still hear my husband scream, "it's a boy, Miriam!" I can remember learning how to breast feed, change diapers, look for proper growth and development, and read endless books to him. I remember his book on sharks that he wrote in first grade. I remember the bike ramp he dug in our backyard. Well, he may be filling in his last schedule for his Senior year, but I can promise you I'll be watching my schedule so I don't miss anything or any chance to still be a part of his life.