Feeling Lost in the Woods at His Final Concert

In our podcast last week I shared some reflective thoughts on motherhood. It seems like reflecting on motherhood has been important for this phase of my life, and this phase of our parenting. In just 15 days our youngest child graduates high school and plans to move out just 3 months later. 

To cope with my emotions I started a Substack all about it. I’m going to use this as a place to share my feelings and experiences over the first 365 days of becoming empty nesters, but I started it now because I just couldn’t wait. I’d love for you to join me there. You can find that HERE.

Today’s blog comes from one of my recent posts there. 

Last night was his final choir concert.

We showed up at our usual time and somehow still ended up in unfamiliar seats. The audience seemed to be bigger than normal, fuller in a way that hinted other parents were feeling it too: an awareness that something was ending.

I thought our seats were fine because we were much closer than normal, but once the concert started I realized our view wasn’t great. A music stand landed squarely in our sightline, and of course, out of the entire stage, he seemed to find the one spot where he was just slightly hidden behind it. I found myself leaning a bit right trying to catch glimpses of his face. This was the last time I’d see him in a choir on this stage. I had to see him. 

The theme was Disney. You’ve Got a Friend in Me, which was more than appropriate for him. Toy Story was his show when he was little, as I am sure it was many of the seniors there. It wasn’t just something he liked, but something that got us through a season. When we moved from Oklahoma to Florida, he was just shy of 18 months old, and packing felt impossible because he could undo anything I’d done faster than I could fill one box. One day out of desperation I put him in an empty box and put on that movie. He stood in that box mesmerized and didn’t move the entire time. It played on repeat for what felt like years (minus him standing in a box). Survival sometimes looks like Pixar on a loop. At least it did for us.

They performed a few songs I didn’t know. Ones that came after my kids decided they were “too old” for most of the Disney shows. But one of those songs hit me in the feels without warning—Lost in the Woods from Frozen 2. 

“Again, you’re gone
Off on a different path than mine…”

I tried to sit still to not draw attention to myself. And I tried so hard not to let tears fall,  but five or six tears slipped out before I could stop them. How is this where we are? How is he here?

I pulled it together just in time for his senior spotlight. Between each song, the teachers read short reflections about each graduating senior, forty of them in total. We had joked all year about what his would say.

They got it exactly right.

They spoke about his talent and musical knowledge, but also how his humor always comes first. And then they shifted to the maturity he showed this year, stepping into a demanding role in the spring musical, delivering something so sincere it brought even the teachers to tears. Growth, they said. Real growth. They were right. 

And there I was again, swallowing hard. Then came the senior slideshow.

His slide appeared during When She Loved Me—another Toy Story song. The one that first showed us he could sing. He wasn’t even 18 months old in his car seat in our family van. He couldn’t form the words, but he matched the pitch perfectly. I don’t remember where we were going, but I remember my husband noticing it first. We had him repeat it again and again, just to be sure.

That same little boy is now 6'1" and about to walk out our front door.

I made it through that part. Barely.

But when the teachers began placing graduation cords on them, and I saw him with his friends, emotional in a way he doesn’t often show, that’s when it finally unraveled a bit more. And then, as if the choir teachers hadn’t done enough damage, they ended with You’ll Be in My Heart from Tarzan.

I’m not sure I can forgive them for that one.

We still have a few more “lasts” over the next couple of weeks. This is not looking promising for my ability to keep it together. Because somewhere in the middle of all of this, I realized something I wasn’t quite ready to name:

I’m left behind
Wondering if I should follow…

Not in a sad way. Not exactly. But in that quiet, disorienting way where the path you’ve been walking alongside someone begins to split, and you’re not quite sure when it happened.

When did I become the one
Who’s always chasing your heart?

I used to be the one leading him home. Now I’m about to watch him find his own way.

And if I’m honest, there are moments where I feel a little lost in the woods too.

Lyrics excerpted from “Lost in the Woods” (Frozen 2), written by Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez.