This morning, as I watch Lexi get ready for her first day of 7th grade, I’m overwhelmed with pride. My heart swells with admiration for this beautiful, resilient, loving, and fiercely creative girl standing in front of me. She’s grown so much over the summer, not just in height but in ways that leave me in awe. Her ability to see the world with such logic and compassion, at just 12 years old, is something that continually amazes me. I see the woman she is becoming, and I am proud beyond words.
But beneath the surface of this pride and happiness, there is a deep, aching sadness that I carry with me every moment of every day. A sadness so profound that it sometimes feels like it’s suffocating me. It’s a grief I can’t allow to overshadow this day, this moment, because Lexi deserves all of my happiness, all of my pride. She deserves to feel how much I believe in her, how much I celebrate her. Today is her day!
Yet, in the quiet moments, when the house is still and the chaos of back-to-school prep fades, that grief floods in. It’s the grief of losing Cole, my sweet boy who should be heading into 5th grade today. I should be helping him pack his backpack, double-checking his school supplies, and teasing him about how fast he’s growing up and how he’s catching up to Grandpa. But I’m not. I’ll never do those things with him again, and that reality is so brutal, so unfair.
Cole was simply a miracle. A boy who exceeded everyone’s expectations, who lit up every room with his humor, his perseverance and his incredible mindset. He was so smart, so special in every possible way. People always said he had an impact on everyone he met, and I knew that was true. But now, all I’m left with are the echoes of who he was, the memories that I cling to so desperately.
I miss him every second. There’s not a moment that passes where I don’t think of him, where my heart doesn’t break all over again. The world feels emptier without him in it, and sometimes I wonder how I’m supposed to go on, how life can just keep moving forward when he’s not here. It’s not fair. It will never be fair.
But for Lexi, I push that grief down. I hide it away because she deserves to feel the fullness of my love and pride without the shadow of my sorrow looming over her. She’s so strong, so much stronger than I ever thought a 12 year-old could be. So much stronger than a 12 year old ever should be. I see pieces of Cole in her; The same brightness, the same spark, and the same compassion for other. These vast similarities both comfort and devastate me at the same time.
Today is her day. Today, I will focus on her. I will celebrate the amazing young woman she’s becoming and hold onto the joy of watching her step into this new chapter of her life. But as I hug her goodbye and watch her walk through the doors, I know the tears will come, and I’ll feel that emptiness all over again.
I’ll never stop missing Cole. I’ll never stop grieving for the life he should have had, for the years we were robbed of. But I’ll also never stop loving Lexi with everything I have, and I’ll never stop being proud of her, even in the midst of my brokenness.
Life isn’t fair. It’s so far from fair. But today, I’ll hold onto the pride and the love, because it’s what Lexi needs, and it’s what I need to keep going.
