The Eighth Of June

Summary

The author reflects on the day of their granddaughter's graduation, which coincides with the anniversary of their mother's death, and finds joy and pride in creating new, positive memories that overshadow the sadness of the past.

Abstract

On the eighth of June, a day previously marked by the loss of the author's mother, the narrative turns to celebration with the graduation of the author's granddaughter, Caitlyn. The author describes the emotional significance of staying in the same hotel where their granddaughter once wore a red and white polka dotted bathing suit, mirroring a suit the author later donned to share a joyful moment of laughter with her. This day, which once carried the weight of grief, is now transformed into a day of pride and happiness as the author anticipates Caitlyn's graduation and the tears it may bring, symbolizing a graduation of their own from sorrow to celebration.

Opinions

The author acknowledges a historical heaviness of heart on this date due to their mother's death.
The birth of the author's granddaughter, Caitlyn, and her graduation have significantly changed the emotional connotation of this day.
The author cherishes sentimental items, such as a baby teeth-marked glasses case, which represent the passage of time and the growth of their granddaughter.
There is a profound sense of pride in witnessing Caitlyn's achievements and a personal sense of moving beyond past sorrows.
The author anticipates an emotional response to Caitlyn's graduation, indicative of the deep connection and the milestone's importance.

Graduate: (intransitive verb) to pass from one stage of experience, proficiency, or prestige to a usually higher one

Property of author. June 8, 2023

Today is that day. What day? The day my mother died (nearly forty years ago). Always heavyhearted, until today. Here I am in the same hotel I stayed when she was born. Who’s she? Caitlyn, my firstborn granddaughter. Today she graduates; a new memory made. I needed this. Not the dreaded old one. Who am I? Older, happier, and proud. Now, I sit looking at the pool where her father once held her in a red and white polka dotted bathing suit. At that perfect age: roly poly legs and chubby arms. Dimpled baby fingers pointing at me. Unbeknownst to me, until I heard her belly laugh when I walked out in an identical suit: same red and white polka dots. At that simple age, it was enough. We laughed. In those early years, in the same room, she chewed my black leather glasses case. I keep that case (baby teeth marks etched forever) in my desk drawer. Last week she turned eighteen. When I watch her walk across the stage and hear her name; it won’t surprise me if I cry.