What Dreams May Come...

I remember when I was about twelve or thirteen and my I was talking to my Mother. She used to be so involved with my life, so excited to watch me grow up. Used to dream about my college years, meeting my first love, and watching me become a man. She was saying how I was twelve now and its 1999, so I'll be eighteen in 2005 and that's when she can attend my graduation, which she would always bring up how excited she was to see me walk. She was so excited to see what she believed was my bright future blossom and unfurl. I imagined At that time, I imagined my future really was bright. I had this vivid depiction of an awesome, eventful, meaningful, life changing experience that would stretch across my high school years and reach well into my twenties. I thought it would be like a movie, with ups and downs, twists and turns that ultimately shape myself as a man and who I was going to be. An intricate story lined with heartbreak, enlightenment, love, passion, pain, spiritual epiphany, learning, gaining wisdom, and tranquility.

I imagined that day to be wonderful, the sun to be warm and the sky to be bright. I imagined the look on her face when I accepted my diploma, the single tear of joy that would cascade down her face when she saw me walking through the entrance of adulthood. I imagined that I would become all that she expected of me. I imagined that day to come.

But it didn't. A few years went by, and my Mother passed away.

I had a very unexpected and colorful next few years after. I went to a little college early, did the whole band thing for a while, met people and lived experience that I never thought I would. But it still felt unfulfilled.

I'm now 23 and part of me feels like I'm still waiting for that day, when I'm eighteen years old and waiting in line, wearing some robe and a hat in the shape of a square. Listening to some valedictorian give a speech about ambition and the future. Waiting to accept that look from her that says I can finally grow up.