Dear Sam (on your last first day)…
What can I say that I haven’t already?
Sixteen last-day of school letters.
I’ve celebrated with you for all the ways you’ve conquered hard times, commiserated with you about the really crappy years, told you how you inspire me (you do), predicted which school years would be remarkable, and marveled at how quickly it’s all gone.
I’ve said it all before—and I’m here to say it all again. Because all of those are still true.
Your superpowers are that you 1) show up and 2) you bring your whole heart. And even though this is possibly the hardest way to go through the world, with thin skin and a deep desire to be seen, you keep it up.
And that’s what you bring into this final year of school: you’ve seen the ugliness of the world and the staggering kindness. You’ve figured out what’s not important—and even more importantly, what is. You’ve set outrageously high goals for yourself—and then exceeded them. You have done it all with the most genuine heart, signature humor, and the best hugs.
Most of all, I love your faith. When I walk past your room early in the morning, worship music plays from when you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night. Today you’re meeting friends in Nashville for a Christian rap festival. You pray for everyone all the time. And you never pass up a chance to tell me what you learned about God—or ask me a nearly impossible question.
And so, I will say it again: one of the deepest joys of my life has been being your mom, Sam. You bring an incredible amount of joy, silliness, heart, and passion to this world. I really cannot imagine the coldness our house will feel when you’re gone.
But for now, I’m praying for you through your senior year. Show up, even when you’d rather sleep. Smile, even when you see the pain in a situation. And never forget who you are. Because it’s incredible.
Love,
Mom
