The Barrette

Last Friday night, I cried.

I’ve been doing a lot of that lately as I’m realizing more and more that my youngest one is launching off into the world of adulthood, whether I’m ready or not.

But the reason I cried that Friday night was because of a faux diamond barrette. The silvery clasp has tarnished, the diamond wanna-be’s no longer catch the light as effectively, but on top of her shiny, copper hair, it was transformed into it’s original luster. The sight of it transported me back to the last time when I saw it perched atop the crown of her head.

It was only yesterday that she last wore the faux-diamond studded barrette. She was barely three feet high, if even that. Her thick, red-tinted brown hair lay glistening down to her waist, the sides swooped up and held in place with the clasp she was so proud of. Down the church aisle she walked, one tiny step at a time. Carefully, she held the rose petal- filled white basket in one hand and with the other, she methodically dropped one petal at a time onto the teal carpet.

“Not too fast,” they had told her at the wedding rehearsal.

“Not too slow,” they then said.

I hadn’t wanted her childhood to go too slow, but now I wish it hadn’t been too fast.

I cried Friday night when I saw the tarnished, silvery, faux diamond- studded barette sitting atop her coppery hair, sides swooped and held in place. Hair that now barely reaches her collar- a two-year regrowth after shaving it all off in a random teen moment.

Graduation 2022

She stands at five feet, eight inches, her slender, womanly curves accentuated by the black dress she wears. Determined, fiery, sweet, salty, passionate, defender of others, a joy and a hurricane.

Time waits for no one they say, and I believe it.

Thursday I watched her drop rose petals; Friday I watched her walk down another church aisle, receiving her diploma… launching out into the wide world.

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