The end of the school year. An emotional upheaval for many of us. Children have hit another milestone that further asserts their presence in the universe, serving as a benchmark of a linear transition to independence. It’s an affirmative recognition of that growth, a sincere pride for their accomplishments, and a tingling sadness of knowing that a chapter has come to a close. Things like those temporary chicklets have been replaced by grownup teeth. Tastes in music and television are nearing pre-adolescent. Care Bears have been replaced by Everafter High. And, there’s this ephemeral piece: like advancing grade levels is evidence of the slow chipping away of the magic and wonderment of being a kid.

This particular end of school year is obviously different. The events of August 2014 occurred right before the school year was set to commence. While that entire period is a blur, there’s this mash-up of emotions that I associate with that time. I recall sitting on the front steps crying one afternoon in late August. The UPS truck arrived. Upon seeing it, Lulu performed this impressive bee-line sprint to the driver’s door. Her new monogrammed butterfly backpack had arrived! I was in this state of consumed mourning, but also relishing her excitement about the new school year. I’ve been taken to that single moment every time I’ve seen her lugging that oversized bag. The emotions and memories of that period are permanently etched and intertwined.

The 2014-15 school year has sometimes felt like a series of painful and void-filled “firsts”–visiting the school for the first time after Owen’s death for Lulu’s orientation, the first annual Halloween parade at the school without him, the first holiday assembly (which deserves an entire long-form article), the first time we decorated his tree with classmates and friends, and on and on. How will the second time around feel? Will it be as painful? Time moves. Chapters close.

Owen will forever be three weeks away from entering the third grade. Wow, writing that brings incredible sadness. His peers are now set to enter the fourth grade, and for some reason that revelation brings a weird panic. His kindergarten and 2nd grade teachers came over to the house the other evening. They shared an incredible meal with us. We swapped Owen stories and watched as Lulu enriched and balanced our grief with her buoyant and rich presence. Their visit put an exclamation point on this chapter–and served as reminder that the love and pain we share for Mr. O will carry into future chapters.