Final Exam

Perhaps one of the most universal dreams for those who have attended college is the one where you're about to graduate only to discover that you forgot to take a final exam in a class and therefore can't receive your diploma. And for some of us, that dream-state revelation comes when our name is called and we're ready to walk across the stage and a stern-looking professor stops us and says, "You shall not pass." Oh man ... just typing those four words brought visions of Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings ... come on, you know you thought it, too ... Gandalf on the ledge with the fire monster thingy as he tries to protect the Hobbits and the other guys, sword in one hand and staff in the other as he shouts, "You shall not pass!" A minor digression there ... back to the college dream. I'm almost 52 years old, and I still have that dream from time to time. I'm sure it signifies something deep within my psyche, some fear of failure, of not being able to finish what I start, of reaching the end of a long quest only to find that I am unable to complete it.

This afternoon, I sat in a large room filled with people and watched as my middle child walked across a stage and received his college diploma. And as I watched my young adult son participate in the ceremony that signified he had crossed another major threshold in his life, I had tears in my eyes as I thought of his journey of the last 24 years. I thought of how he exploded into my life, being born a mere 10 minutes after I arrived at the hospital. I thought of the nights I would sit in the recliner and rock him when he was sick. I thought of the time in elementary school when he got into a fist fight with some boys who were pulling the legs off of crickets (which in turn made me think of his little bug box that he carried around for years ... collecting the bugs in the morning and then releasing them later in the day). I thought of when he was in choir and theater classes in junior high and high school, and when he played a pirate in Peter Pan. I thought of the night he sat at my kitchen table and wept as he told me he had gotten into some trouble. I thought of the cards and letters he has written to me over the years. I thought of the way he has called me almost every day just to say hi (and to offer up a more than occasional Brad rant). I thought of his strong hugs and his lack of embarrassment in showing affection to his old gray-haired mama. I thought of how he has supported himself all the way through college, never asking me for financial help. I thought of how I've always worried most about him for some reason ... perhaps because he's my middle child. I thought of how much I love him and how very proud I am of him. I thought of how often I have said recently that I think my Bradley will miss me the most when I'm gone. I thought of Brad ... of the little boy he was and the young man he has become.

As I drove the 30 minutes or so back home following the ceremony, I couldn't help but think about exams that we all take in our lives. I couldn't help but wonder about the tests that will come to Brad in life ... some will be easy to pass, and some will require every ounce of strength he possesses to get through them. I couldn't help but think about the ultimate final exam we all must pass in order to spend eternity in heaven. I couldn't help but consider how blessed I have been to share the last 24 years with my son, Brad ... the last 22 years with my daughter, Meg ... the last 27 years with my son, Matt. There is a certain finality that has come with the big events in my children's lives this year ... Meghann's wedding, Matt's first child soon to arrive, Brad's graduation from college ... a certain finality in knowing that my children are all self-sufficient and successful adults. And as that motherly finality registers in my mind, another thought registers as well ... my children's lives are just beginning, their futures are bright and full of promise and hope and dreams.

So today, Bradley ... today, I hope you know how proud I am of you ... I hope you know how much respect I have for you and the man you have become ... but most of all, son ... most of all, I hope you know how very, very, very much I love you.