And I’m left with a handfull of yellow feathers - again.  

My second – and last son (thus far) – graduated from high school today. As soon as I entered the ceremony hall, tears welled up in my eyes. I had not even seen him yet. Didn’t I already go through this three years ago with my eldest? It’s all so beautiful, but it’s also so heart-wrenching.  

When the graduates started to enter the hall with the music bellowing through from the speakers, I started to cry unashamedly – I had not even seen him yet. I rushed from my seat, as I had done three years before, and I searched the faces. I could not see him. I was surprised, his initials are AA, he should be among the first to appear. I thought there was something wrong with my eyes. I searched the faces one by one again. The first row was already in; the second row was coming in. By the time the third row was complete, I gathered that he had received a distinction and therefore will be coming into the hall a little later.  

Finally, I saw him and the

Niagara Falls that usually hides behind my eyes let loose. There he was, yellow distinction sash and curly hair. (His dad had called the teacher a month earlier to tell him that we were not going to cut his hair and that they should not be making such a big deal about it with school almost over – and besides, he had very good grades. Let him have his hair). Just before he went up to receive his diploma, I asked one of the youngsters sitting on the stairs behind me to help me make a lot of noise for my son as he received his diploma – and he did!  

I was crying so much, I could hardly focus the camera. My mind was racing as fast as the tears streaming down my face: I’m so proud; I can’t believe he’s graduating; Oh my God, he’s going away to collage in September; I’m going to miss him so much; seems like only yesterday he was straddling my waist;  … Did I do everything right? I had 17 years, was that enough? Did I do enough? I won’t have this chance again; did I mess it up? Should I have done something different? Should I have done more?  … I thought I was clever being an artist, an author, running my own business, but now all I feel is that I am a mother, and I am no longer needed. I’m left with a handful of yellow feathers again; in their place were long, flight feathers.  

We have worked so hard to teach them to dare to dream; to fly, and to fly high, to soar – and yet, I hold on to the yellow feathers, and I cry. 

Fadwa