Life is exploding everywhere, this May in the Midwest, painting the landscape green from one horizon to the other. The milkweed in my prairie garden is shooting up so fast you can almost see it grow. Birds are singing with great delight.  It is as if every tree, plant and blade of grass is celebrating.

Soon there will be other celebrations. Graduations, all across the country.

My granddaughter Isla has her own little graduation this week. She is 16 months old and this is her last week in infant care.  On Monday she will start at the Montessori school where all her siblings have gone.

Isla has spent the past year growing even more swiftly than the prairie plants in my yard. Growing from a newborn, all sleepiness and unfocused gaze, into a strong pre-toddler with a beautiful disposition but definite opinions. She has a beaming smile, handles the chaos around her with an unflappable air, and adores every member of her family. She can say a few words but has a versatile shriek that she uses more often. It can mean anything from, “Get me out of this highchair!” to “My turn to talk,” or “Isn’t life great? Let’s enjoy it, together.”

Isla has two older sisters and an older brother, and they all delight in her (as she delights in them). They have cheered her through every victory, every growth experience, this past year: the first time she reached for something, sat up, smiled, rolled over, crawled, said “Mama” and “Papa”, stood up, sidled sideways and began walking.

They love her. And she loves them back. The other day when I came into their house, Isla and Elijah, her six-year-old brother, were holding onto each other and rolling around on the floor roaring with laughter at some private game that brought great delight to them both.

Today is a little graduation for Isla’s grandparents, as well. This is the last day we will be babysitting her, which we have done once a week for many months, as we did for all three of her siblings before her.

Starting Monday, she will be at the Montessori school five days a week.

Today, my last day to babysit Isla, I take her outside and put her in her stroller. She watches me take the shovel that I brought and dig up a small rosebush from the side yard, one that her mother wants me to have.

Roses and graduations seem to go together in my family.

At home today, in my backyard, a large heritage rosebush called Harrison’s Yellow has several buds already open.  Every year by the end of May, at graduation time, the bush is covered with butter-yellow roses.

When Isla‘s mother Elizabeth graduated from high school, family and friends came from across the country and stayed with us. When we went off to Elizabeth’s graduation ceremony, I asked those staying behind to make lemonade and decorate the house with flowers.

I came back to see yellow roses festooning the fireplace mantle and bouquets of fresh flowers throughout the house.

I remember how my mother and Uncle Barton and Aunt Barbara came to every one of my daughters’ graduation parties. They dressed up in their best clothes. Were full of smiles and congratulations. Stood in front of the fireplace for group pictures.

The Harrison’s Yellow rose was there then, and it is here now.

Next week I am having lunch with Isla‘s mother, my daughter Elizabeth. I’m going to take her some Harrison’s Yellow roses.

Because that’s what grandparents and aunts and uncles do: make occasions extra-special.

We say: Stop. Focus. Bring out the punch bowl. Celebrate. Take pictures.

My parents and Uncle Barton and Aunt Barbara are long gone, but those graduation pictures are still here, reminding us of how special life is, how very precious these moments are.

Now it is my husband Frank’s turn, and mine. Like the Harrison’s Yellow, we will be here for our grandchildren’s graduations.

From the stroller, Isla watches me put the rose and the shovel in the trunk of my car. 

Then we go went for a walk. I talk and sing, and she listens. We are celebrating. Cherishing this special day, this bright spring morning.

Life is full of graduations. The trick is to notice them. To stop. Hug. Celebrate.

To which, I would add: Decorate with roses.

Bring out the punch bowl.

Take pictures.

And smile.