I didn’t understand then how much she meant that.
Senior Family Night arrived on May 19.
I remember the date because I had written it on three different calendars.
That was the kind of person I was.
I kept lists for my lists.
I tracked my grades down to the decimal point.
I knew exactly how many volunteer hours I had completed, how many pages I could read in an hour, how much money I had saved for college, and how many days remained until move-in.
I planned everything.
I measured everything.
If life could be turned into a spreadsheet, I felt safe.
That night, I wore a dark green dress Mom had bought me for graduation.
Hannah curled my hair.
My mother cried before we even left the house.
“Stop,” I told her.
“I can’t.”
“Nothing has happened yet.”
“You’re graduating.”
“In eleven days.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Parenthood rarely does.”
