Omega and Alpha

It's that time of year again, when parents all over are posting those bright and shiny first-day photos. And I'll do the same. This year, as I've done before, I'll post two pictures, and the caption will be "First-first to last-first".

But this is my last last-first. And the hardest one to write about.

My girl has not always been well-served by school. School has not always been a safe place for her. And the people who were supposed to make it safe, the teachers, and counselors, and, yes, parents, have frequently been at best, clueless. And at worst, willfully blind.

Grace has been forced into round holes since the day she started school. She's been told that she has to adapt. She's been told that she needs to change. She's been told that it's just the way things are.

Now, I am the child of teachers. I am a strong supporter of public education. I have had wonderful teachers, and so have my children, including Grace.

But as I begin to send her out the door this last-first morning, I also know that we, collectively, have failed her. We did not make school a safe place. We did not embrace her personality. We did not ask her "why?" enough before telling her "no." She's been told that she needs to ignore people making fun of her. Just walk away from people picking on her. She's been told that the school can do nothing about bullying because she didn't speak up early enough, but then has also seen them do nothing when she did speak up, because they didn't think it was an ongoing problem.

There's a catch-22 for you. If you wait till the problem is huge and you're at the breaking point, well, you should've told earlier. If you tell early, well, it's just an isolated incident.

So, when I look at the two pictures I'll post on Facebook this morning, there's a strong sense of regret. Of opportunities lost. Of what-ifs, and why-nots, and how-comes. There's a sense of held breath as I send my girl out the door this morning. A bit of wondering, not necessarily with excitement, what will happen this year? What will we have to deal with? What shoe is going to drop this year? I see that bright and shiny kindergartner, and think about what could have been.

But there is also celebration. There is also looking at my bright and shiny senior and thinking about what she's accomplished.

Three years ago, when Grace started high school, I was honestly not sure she would make it this far. And it has been a bumpy road to get here. She has had to battle her own demons, whether they be emotional or academic. She has had to, in the three years of high school, not only figure out time management and study skills and driving and the social life of high-schoolers, but she's done it while also delving into some very dark and hidden areas of her past. She's done it while taking on emotional work and therapy that most would run from. And she's done it, honestly, beginning from a deficit. In retrospect, her middle school years were not spent learning how to manage high school, they were spent hiding from demons, both internal and external.

She has grown. Freshman year, she needed an unlimited hall pass in case of panic attacks. She would frequently come home with a story of having to leave class, she never went to assemblies or pep rallies because of the crowds. And she suffered accordingly. She struggled to keep up in class. She wasn't having the same high-school experience that some of her peers were. She's still not a huge fan of pep rallies, but that's more from a lack of interest in sports than because of a fear of crowds. She works sound for assemblies. She's never going to be the kid in the middle of the mosh pit or the spirit section, but she is no longer as bound by her panic as she once was.

She has found her people. She's has learned that she has a voice, and that it can be a powerful one. Whether it's speaking out for "arts kids", or presenting on the importance of using correct pronouns with trans, gender fluid, or gender non-binary kids, she is learning that she can help. She has learned that she has a passion, and a talent for working with exceptional children, and may wind up making that her life's work. She's found a group in theatre who love, respect, and depend on her, and may make that her life's work.

"Last-first" sounds funny to us, it's an oxymoron, and they can be humorous. But in this case, it's apt. Because there's a polarity to my girl's experience, too. The lows and the highs have combined to make this incredible human being that stands before me this morning, barely containing her impatience as I finish blogging and insist upon a picture.

So, as my last Senior, last high-schooler, last baby heads out the door, I will think about both parts. I will acknowledge the pain, and the hurt, and the difficulties. I will be honest about the failures.

But I will also watch her head out, and I will take a moment to tell her how proud I am of her. Of how proud she should be of herself. Of how important she is, to me, to her friends, and to the world.

And to remember this last-first, and how all sides of her world, and her experience, and her soul, are important.

Love you, Gracie-belle.