Thirteen years. That’s how long it has been since I first walked my baby girl onto her kindergarten campus, her tiny backpack bouncing behind her as she giggled and ran toward a brand-new world of learning and friends. She was fearless, eager to be like her big brother, full of confidence and wonder. I can still see her little face lit up with excitement, as though she had been preparing for that day her whole life.
This week, I watched her drive herself to school for the very first time. My baby, my youngest, behind the wheel of her own car, heading off to her last first day of high school. For the first time, I wasn’t the one in the driver’s seat, and though my heart ached, she graciously let me follow behind to capture the photo that means so much to me. It was surreal, emotional, and overwhelming all at once.
Before she started this chapter, we honored a tradition one that has carried us through all these years. Each year, she has taken a photo with the man who helped set the foundation of her academic career: her kindergarten teacher. More than an educator, he became a mentor, a friend, and a father figure she loves and respects. This year, we took the “final first day” photo on the very playground where it all began, closing the circle in a way I could have never imagined.
When I look back at her childhood, it has been filled with both joy and unimaginable trials. We survived her brother’s heart surgery, her own surgeries some so severe they nearly took her life and countless trips to Stanford. We walked through the pain of losing her papa, the struggles of surviving an abusive father, and the hard work of therapy and healing. But alongside the storms were victories: her years as a cheerleader, her leadership in junior high, her academic accomplishments, her grit, her laughter, and her courage. Through it all, her spirit remained unshakable.
What amazes me most about her isn’t just her strength, but the size of her heart. She has compassion and empathy for others, yet she stands firm with strong boundaries. She loves deeply but doesn’t let herself be walked on. She has a drive for excellence that pushes her forward, even when it’s hard. And she has been fiercely independent since she was four years old, when she carried an armload of firewood at camp and shouted, “NO, I can do it myself.” That determined little girl never left, she just grew taller.
As her mom, this year feels like holding a mirror up to everything we’ve lived through together. Motherhood has taught me that it’s not all twinkle stars and baby giggles. It is both beautiful and tragic, a perfect storm of love and heartbreak, of watching your heart walk around outside your body while learning you cannot protect it from everything. It has taught me resilience, compassion, and the art of loving fiercely through every season.
If I could go back to that first day of kindergarten and whisper to my younger self, I would say: Enjoy every moment. Things will get hard, but you’ll both get through it. She will be strong, resilient, and kind. Be gentle with yourself too… you’re doing the best you can.
And now, here we are. The final year. The final first day. My hopes for her are simple but deep: that she doesn’t lose herself, that she stays authentic, that she soaks in every moment of this year every game, every dance, every hallway laugh. That she remembers she only gets to do this once, and that she carries these memories into her future with joy.
When I look back years from now, I want to remember the sparkle in her eyes as she looked toward her future, the mix of excitement and fear, the sound of her laughter, and the sight of her stepping boldly into her next chapter. I want to remember how proud I was and always will be.
Because this is more than her senior year.
It’s the culmination of everything we’ve survived, everything we’ve celebrated, and everything she’s becoming.
……………And oh, how lucky I am to be her mom.
