I find myself holding my breath often this past week, choking back tears. At times a wave of sadness will roll up from the depths of my stomach into my chest and across my lungs, constricting them. I want to weep.
On Thursday my husband and I joined the other eighth-grade parents in the school gymnasium for an appropriately named “Moving On” ceremony. There my daughter gathered for one of a few final times with her classmates – the ones she’s teased and joked with, ones she’s pulled pranks on teachers with, ones she’s cajoled to join the track team and the school newspaper. Kids whose names were unfamiliar three years ago, yet now stand out as well-known characters in the drama of junior high life.
Eric* who shared the editor-in-chief title with my daughter and annoyed her with his big plans and small work. Jessica who hollered my child’s name jubilantly whenever she first entered a room. Stacy who faithfully walked to school with her every day and joined her to help file music for the band director during lunchtime. Greg and Allen whose table she snuck over to at lunch to try to beat at card games. And a cast of others whose names reappeared in tellings of Spanish class tricks and science lab mishaps.
These kids, who as of today officially become high school freshmen, are why I descended frequently to moroseness recently. I am going to miss hearing about them and seeing them bring out the best and brightest in my girl. I had not realized how much I’d come to enjoy those dinnertime tales and the goofy junior high antics.
But because my daughter embraced so fully the privileges of being “top dog” in her school, she had what I think was one of the best years ever. Because this year had been about more than just the lessons in the classroom – it had been about lessons in life and living out loud.
And so despite her warning that it would be sad to leave junior high and stop being one of the big shots, I’ve been blindsided by this transition. I hadn’t expected myself to react this way to my daughter finishing junior high.
Yet what I’m going through is what many others experience at the reaching of a goal (even if it wasn’t mine and even if it was inevitable): post-achievement depression. Marathoners and Olympians go through it. PhD’s face it when they receive their degree and title. And apparently moms of junior high kids can succumb to it.
So when you go after that bucket list (on your own or as a family or in support of a family member who’s tackling a life goal) know that it may be coming – this feeling of sadness. Remind yourself that the day after you accomplish that bucket list dream you may feel a bit hollow. You may find waves of sorrow welling up from your stomach. You may want to weep. And that’s normal. Go ahead and weep for a day.
And then dry off those tears and get ready for the next dream. Junior high is over, but high school is coming.
