Graduate

On July 12, 2019 by Michelle Love

BJ was in the high school Class of 2019. This whole year was tough for us, with all of the senior ‘moments’ that we were aware of from his friends, and some we actually were invited to…Senior Football Banquet (we attended), cap and gown fittings and photos, Senior photos, Senior Night, notices of college commits and signings, graduation practice, Senior breakfast, and finally…graduation.

Friday, June 7 at 7pm, Carly and I filed into North Lincoln High School to witness the Class of 2019 graduate. So many of BJ’s friends are unrecognizable at this point. Girls that I remember from Middle School are made-up and hair done, high-heel-wearing women now. Boys that I remember from sports teams and birthday parties have full-grown beards. They are grown, and excited about their future, as they should be. I am amazed at the transformations from what I remember to the high school graduate as their name is called and they walk across the stage.

The opening speeches are given and BJ is remembered, along with the two other students whose lives were cut short. These missing students were remembered with a beautiful white basket of white and blue flowers that sat in an otherwise empty white chair. The basket took the place of the body that should be in that chair, wearing the gown, the cap and the tassel, anticipating this rite of passage to adulthood. Names are called, but my eyes keep going back to BJ’s seat and the basket taking its place. It sat there, undisturbed as the row of his classmates stood up and filed past it. It waited for their return, as they came back from the stage with their diplomas and sat down in their chair. All the names are read, and the tassels are turned, and with each traditional step, the lump in my throat grows larger.

I watched as his classmates threw their caps into the air, and excitedly congratulated each other with hugs and celebratory slaps on the back. I was so happy for them, but the lump in my throat was too large, and I had no control over the flow of tears from my eyes, and my equally quickening breath. BJ’s basket didn’t move, but now I couldn’t see it. I quickly made my way to retrieve his flowers – my flowers.

I was embarrassed by my tears, and my inability to keep them in their place like Carly did. She is so much stronger than I am. I couldn’t get us out of there quick enough. It was a maze of hugging, picture-taking people, and all I wanted to do was hide, snap my fingers and we’d be safe at home. I hugged the basket of flowers tightly, trying to hold it high enough so that I could see where I was going, but that my reddening, tear-stained face was hidden. I know I failed because so many people hugged me as I tried to make a path for Carly, who was on crutches, and I to exit.

I didn’t want to dampen anyone’s celebration. I didn’t want them to think that I wasn’t happy for them. I didn’t want them to think they couldn’t show their happiness when they saw the basket of flowers moving toward the door, and my tears following behind it. When we finally got to the car, Carly’s tears started flowing too. She made it out of the building, across the parking lot to the car without anyone seeing her cry. That thought in itself is torturous. I wish she didn’t feel like she has to hold back her tears. And once again, I am helpless to fix my baby’s pain. She misses her brother so much. My only resolve is to hug her, tell her I’m there for her and wait for her to talk to me.

That graduation ceremony took its toll on both of us. It was at least a couple of weeks before we felt like venturing out in public. The emotional weight is just so heavy sometimes that we tend to stay home — locked inside the safety of our cocoon where we can be who we are without pretending, without looks and judgments.

I feel like this graduation was the last big milestone, with the exception of ticking off the number of years since he’s been gone, and his would-be birthdays. Truth is, I don’t know for sure where he would have gone after high school — military or college — so those won’t be milestones that we look for or dread, and I am very thankful for that.

Thank you, North Lincoln High School, for remembering BJ, and for the beautiful basket of flowers.