I see you, innocent parents of brand new high school seniors. Your beginning and our beginning are somehow overlapping. Your children are entering their last year of high school while ours destroy their bedrooms in an attempt to empty them. You’re beginning to ask questions about senior pictures and college applications while we’re paying room and board and buying towels at T.J. Maxx. Yours are beginning a series of lasts while ours tries to make room in his fashionable, overly small wallet for his insurance, HSA, and voter registration cards. The other night I woke up in a cold sweat with this new idea: “He’ll need Command Strips!” That’s when you really know you’ve slid right off the deep end.

Today is Huck’s Final Fayetteville Day before we begin our drive to Pittsburgh in the morning. Ever loyal to his beloved high school choir program, he has a long to-do list that ends with section-leading at their first Thursday after school rehearsal of the year. This isn’t only because he’s an overly helpful person; it’s mainly because he gets to be a high school choir singer one last time before coming home to help load the car.

Leading up to this Last Day, there has been the purging of his massive tea collection and Apple product boxes (he has hoarder tendencies like his father), army roll video tutorials in an attempt to get all those shirts into suitcases, a Lana Del Rey concert, a surprise visit from Aunt Jeni, a family viewing of Heartstopper Season 2, lots and lots of time with friends, and a constant countdown to Sunday’s goodbye, which has been moved back to 4:30pm as if to torture mothers.

The first time Aunt Jeni visited Huck was when he was three weeks old, beginning a tradition that would last much longer (and with more lip syncs) than we could have ever imagined. I felt completely incompetent and embarrassed as I struggled to calm fussy Huck while my little sister patiently encouraged me, offering gentle ideas here and there until finally I began to relax. We were down by the Hudson River enjoying a quiet, peaceful walk when she said, “He’s really turned a corner,” which meant that I’d really turned a corner, which was the best thing I’d ever heard. So many more long, dark hallways to come, but still.

Here’s to all of us and our corner-turning and first days and last days and all the ones in between.