artificial insemination syringe
“I just missed it! I can’t believe I missed that moment!” I exclaimed to the parent beside me as we sat at an outdoor venue for my younger son’s high school graduation. I had just failed to capture the perfect shot of my tall, lanky son bending down to receive his diploma from the principal. His wide smile, a few traces of acne, and those pink-patterned sneakers still marked him as a teen, not yet fully transitioned into adulthood.
“I knew this would happen!” I vented to Mike, who graciously listened to my mini-meltdown. “I’m terrible with technology, and if only my husband hadn’t let the batteries die…” Luckily, the emcee interrupted my tirade by announcing Mike’s son’s name. “Oh no, did I make you miss the photo?” I asked, horrified that my moment of panic might have affected him too.
“Don’t worry, Emily, I got it,” he assured me. But I couldn’t shake my worry. I was letting my feelings overshadow the significance of my son’s big day. I had promised myself to focus on him, not on my own frustrations. I had managed to keep my composure during my older son’s graduation two years prior, but this time was different. I envied my husband’s ability to stay present without overthinking the implications of the day.
Typically, when I felt overwhelmed, I sought distractions. But here, distractions were nowhere to be found. All the other parents were intently focused on their children. Small talk was out of the question. The bright red gowns concealed the graduates’ clothing, which I often fixated on during football games to distract myself after a player got hurt. The weather wasn’t warm enough for my own hot flashes to distract me either. Even the persistent drone of cicadas couldn’t drown out my anxious thoughts.
If the graduation speaker was to be believed, “the best is yet to come.” Maybe that was true for my son and his peers, but I couldn’t help but dwell on what that meant for me. “The best” implied a future where I would be more of a spectator in my son’s life, rather than an everyday participant. I wouldn’t be calling him on my way home from work to ask what he wanted for dinner. I wouldn’t hear him teasing me about my chocolate chip cookie obsession. And I wouldn’t be able to give him comforting hugs after tough conversations.
Looking around at the sea of parents, all seemingly absorbed in the ceremony, I felt out of place. Perhaps they were all just better actors than I was. I wasn’t an overly attached mom who imposed my own needs on my kids—my own mother had done that to me. My husband and I had worked hard to instill love while also setting boundaries, allowing them the independence to explore life, find friends, and pursue careers. The prospect of an empty nest loomed ahead, and I was already trying to rekindle my freelance writing career in preparation for the extra free time that would soon be mine.
Then it hit me. For the past two decades, I had primarily defined myself as a mother—a working mom, a soccer mom, a boys’ mom. No matter what else I engaged in, motherhood was always my main identity. My sons had influenced every decision I’d made for as long as I could remember.
While my husband was an excellent father, I was the one managing the household. I scheduled parent-teacher conferences, raced down highways to pick them up from daycare, and hurried out of meetings to drive carpools for soccer practices. I made countless late-night grocery store runs for treats or prom corsages. I turned down job opportunities that would take me away from supporting my boys’ needs. Like many mothers, I did all this willingly, wanting to provide them with stability and love in greater measure than I had experienced growing up.
Now, it was time to let my youngest son step into his future, while I faced the reality of returning home to a quieter house. My focus would begin to shift back to my husband and me, allowing space for new hobbies and beginnings, as all the articles on empty nesting suggested.
As we navigated the crowd of parents, siblings, and friends to meet up with our graduates for post-ceremony photos, I realized I wasn’t quite ready for this transition, but my son was. He needed this celebration, especially after the tumultuous year that had kept him out of the classroom.
So, like any dedicated mother would, I reminded myself to prioritize his needs over mine. “Enjoy the party, sweetheart!” I said after we snapped a few photos and shared a quick kiss. He handed me his cap, gown, and diploma in a haphazard stack.
As my husband and I walked to the car, I glanced back at the parents capturing last-minute photos, their figures fading into the dusk, voices drowned out by the cicadas’ persistent chorus. I smiled, realizing how fitting it was that those peculiar insects, which had last emerged when my younger son took his first steps, had returned to witness him embark on this new chapter of his life.
And once we settled into the car, I finally let the tears flow.