The Final School Lunch

Forever ago—or maybe it was just the other day—I packed a lunchbox for my 4-year-old to take to school. He took his lunch to preschool and ate it with his friends at lunchtime. Then he brought his box home empty.

I can’t tell you how many hundreds of lunches I’ve packed since then.

The choices have varied over the years. But the lunch always goes to school full and comes home lighter.

Today I packed that same child’s lunchbox yet again, maybe for the last time.

He’s 18 now and graduating from high school in just a few weeks. And although he still has to return his textbooks and practice for graduation and to get his yearbook and such, I don’t think he’ll need another packed lunch.

That hit me this morning, as I filled a thermos and slid a bag of chips into his lunchbox.

Now and then, from time to time, we’ve talked about how he might start packing his lunch. And he could have. He’s exceptionally capable and precise, and he knows what he likes. But I like packing his lunch. It makes me feel like I’m part of his day, in some very tangential way, even when we aren’t spending the day together.

It’s one small thing I can do for this growing adult who is more independent every day.

It’s been many years since I wrote little notes and drew pictures to slip into lunchboxes. But I still try to pack something that will be tasty. I look at what comes home, and I notice what vanishes. I pay attention. And then I try again tomorrow.

Today, packing what seems to be the final lunch hit me a little harder than I expected. He’s growing up. He’s growing away. And we are closing one book and beginning a new one.

Senior year of high school is full of last moments and final tasks. It’s also full of windows opening and a movie trailer to the future. It’s an emotional ride, and it takes my breath away. How am I so blessed to be the mother of such extraordinary individuals? I’ll never understand.

And I’ll never comprehend how time can go so quickly. But what a blessing to be on this ride.

“To live is to change, and to be perfect is to have changed often,” St. John Henry Newman said.

So here we go, tucking the lunchbox away—for now or forever. And here comes graduation and a wide open future that’s in God’s hands.

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