It’s my youngest daughter’s 21st birthday

and I just got home from my last final exam, which ends my junior year. I am now officially a senior. I am somewhat astounded at what these years have brought me. I’m surprised at how long it all took. I can’t believe that 21 years ago, I was in labor to give birth at home for my fourth and last child.

Jack’s the only one (peer) who ever understood me. He knows why it took me so long. He reminded me last night why I had to take so many years. But I get pissed at him for knowing sometimes. I get angry because I still feel tempted to just go to sleep, rest on my laurels, call it a day.

However, he did not let me lie down and die when Joy turned 18—which is what I wanted to do. I feel angry at him sometimes, as if he pushes me too hard but the truth is, each time I get to one of these momentous days, I am so grateful he kicked my ass.

No one can know how much I wanted to give up. And I think of her as I write this. I think of the many years she has ahead of her. I think of the way she gets tired. I understand being tired. But I also understand the joy of pushing.