He flies

We have so many great pictures of him. Back when we were still quick enough to somehow stay in his orbit. Or when he let us stay in his orbit, that is. Pictures from soccer and baseball games. Birthday parties. From when he would sit still long enough on family vacations.

And, as my Facebook Memories reminded me today, when he hit the swings.

The picture is from Sharon Elementary School. After a ceremony to celebrate all the fifth-grade Sharon Eagles who were moving on to middle school, and after the cake and the obligatory mingling with family and other guests, it was time to hit the swings.

Facebook reminds us it has now been seven years since that day.

Seven years.

Seven years since this Sharon Eagle took to the sky, leaving elementary school behind forever. As an appropriate bookend for the time, this week he passed his Board of Review for Scouting’s highest achievement. He will soon be awarded the rank of Eagle Scout.

This Eagle continues to fly.

He is graduating high school in a few days, and I can’t help but think how, in each one of the seven years between fifth grade and now, our son has found more and more of a world outside our home. As he has grown, so too has his orbit, and we have been seeing him less and less each year.

This fall, though it hardly seems possible, we’ll be seeing him even less.

We’ll be getting even fewer pictures.

We still have this one, though. It is one of our favorites:

And this one:

This one above, from 2014, with the sun hanging low, is particularly special for me, because I was also moved to write about that moment. The resulting poem, “Fully Summer,” describes that last bit of freedom before the start of a new school year. Despite all his many adventures in the weeks before, it was not fully summer for our boy until:

This moment when,
after lifting him up,
the swing's chains set free their grip,
and the world falls away.

They will soon grab hold, of course,
and return him,
but for now he flies.

He flies.

I hold each of these pictures close. They capture our boy perfectly, this precious child whom we have loved, and will love, for longer than he knows. This boy who has always been on the move and ready to fly, looking:

to that far away place
to which all children look when they dream.
What lies there is only for him to know.

One hundred years ago, another poet, Kahlil Gibran, wrote that our children are not ours to keep; they only pass through us.

We have been reminded of this frequently over these last seven years. With graduation coming, with this Facebook memory, and with these pictures, we are reminded again.

It’s not hard to see in these pictures how quickly time passes. How quickly our boy has grown.

But there is also something else, which I will tell him.

In your younger days, we stood behind you, helping you forward. With each new year, you needed us less and less. You managed more and more on your own.

But, no matter what, we were right there with you, watching you fly higher and higher

And we always will be.

Fly well, our son.

Soar, knowing that we love you.