While looking for something I didn't find, I found something I wasn't looking for.
Stuffed in an envelope with an old glasses prescription and some long-ago paid bills, was a copy of the poem I gave to our son Seth when he turned eighteen. That was twenty three years ago this month.
I share it with thanks and apologies to the author whose name I can't find.
So you're eighteen.
I was eighteen
A lifetime ago.
I was so grown up.
Was going to live forever.
And now I'm mortal.
And don't know so very much.
Like how you got to be eighteen so fast.
Or what I'm going to do when you're gone.
Which is now.