Bittersweet Transformations: A Post About A Tree, But Not Really

 
For the past eight years I've parked beside this same giant, beautiful old tree every afternoon as I've waited to pick my kids up from school. Eight times now I've watched this tree undergo remarkable transformations.

I've watched black birds flocking in and around it in the fall; cardinals huddled in its stark branches in winter; finches flitting in and out in the spring.

I've seen dark green leaves turn yellow and drop. Frozen branches dusted with snow. Listened to the soothing whisper of the warm wind rustling through fresh May leaves.

Eight times this cycle has unfolded before my eyes. And in that same passing span my children have undergone mind-boggling transformations of their own. From fresh-out-of-preschool kindergartener to full-fledged first grader, to second grader, and so on; until one and now the other has developed into independent middle-graders.

Eight cycles. Eight years. How fast it has flown.

The joy and the agony of their first days of kindergarten will forever be fresh in my mind.

Field trips, spelling bees, assemblies. Lunches together on the playground. Eight years. And it all ends next week when my son, my youngest, walks out of elementary school for the last time.

I'm going to miss that old tree.