an epic life

The Last Arrow–Reflections on Raising Finis

May 29th, 2025

“There really is nothing as sweet as a child’s hand in yours — that gentle, trusting, eager hand. And the tiny face that looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars and the sun. Your heart breaks, and then it breaks more, and then it breaks again. It’s your heart walking around outside your body.” –Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year

Lately, I’ve been crying—happy tears, mostly, but also those wistful ones that rise unexpectedly.

It’s a bittersweet time! You see, my youngest son, Finis—our “Mighty Fine”—will graduate from high school this Sunday. He is the third and final arrow to fly, the last son to leave the nest. For Jerry and me, it feels like the finish line of one great journey. For Fin, it’s just the beginning.

Finis was born 18 years ago with a head full of red hair and eyes so blue they stopped strangers in their tracks. From the moment I met him, I knew he was a little different. A noticer. A wise soul in a little boy’s body. He came into this world full of wonder, and he’s been surprising, delighting, and teaching me ever since.

From kindergarten through fifth grade, I walked Fin to and from school—his tiny hand in mine, his eyes scanning the world like a naturalist. He’d point out bugs on the sidewalk, birds overhead, the angle of the light, or how many Ford F-150s had passed by. He’d ask questions that stopped me mid-step: “Mommy, how many lives do we have?” or “When a man is old, how old is he?”

Those walks were sacred. Bookends to each day. Just me and my Fin. I knew, even then, that one day I’d blink and he’d be big—and setting out on his own. I was right. And here we are.

Over the years, I’ve kept notes of things Fin said—funny, insightful, and always unmistakably Fin.

Sometimes the conversations were touching. Sometimes hilarious. Once, while eating lunch together after preschool, he lovingly encouraged me: “Good job chewing like a cow, Mommy.” Another time, when I wore a dress—a rare occurrence—he paid me a compliment: “I like your costume, Mommy.” When asked in class to share a rule from his home, Fin proudly offered, “When we have to go to the bathroom, we have to use the toilet.”

Fin has always had a deep heart and a tender soul. When he was almost eight, his beloved boxelder bug, Reddy, died. He cried the whole walk to school. By the time we got there, we’d planned a proper burial. That afternoon, we held a ceremony and laid Reddy to rest in our backyard. His grave is still there. These were the kinds of things that mattered to Fin.

One Christmas, all he wanted was a “Very Red Fish.” He wrote to Santa about it. And when that fish arrived, the look on his face—pure, unfiltered joy—etched itself into my memory forever.

Another time, after scraping his knee during a rugged hike up Fossil Hill, a raven flew overhead. Fin, through tears, named him Charlie. He declared Charlie his spirit animal, sent to help him endure the pain. For years afterward, we’d return to that trail, hoping Charlie would appear again. He often did.

Fin has always loved animals—worms, bugs, birds, fish, and especially dogs. He used to dress our golden retriever, Buddy, in ski goggles, sweaters, and hats. Buddy, endlessly patient, wore it all without protest. On the Camino de Santiago, Fin pet every single dog we passed, greeting them like old friends.

Fin was always a cuddler. Before preschool, he’d crawl into my lap and ask for five more minutes of snuggles. If I said five, he’d ask for six. I always said yes. I knew someday he’d stop asking. (I sometimes ache for those moments—from a time that’s passed forever.)

During our morning walks to school, Fin and I invented a goodbye ritual—a set number of waves before we could part. Early on, it was nine waves, then seven, then five. By fifth grade, we were down to two. That year, during the last stretch of our walk, he stopped holding my hand but allowed me to put my arm around his shoulder. My heart cracked a little each time.

On the first day of fifth grade, he asked—so sweetly—if I could still walk him to school but let him walk home with his friends. I smiled and said yes. He was growing up, and he was easing me out gently and so thoughtfully.

Fin with our dog, Buddy, some years ago. They were tight!

Fin is a deep feeler. One morning, when he was 11 and feeling sad, he explained, “It feels like I have a bruise on my heart.” As a little boy, when Fin cried, his tears flew off his face like mist off a waterfall.

Fin is clever, too. At age seven, during a three-summit hike that kicked off a month-long road trip from Vancouver, B. C., to Los Angeles, I asked Fin to smile for a photo. “But then I’d be lying,” he muttered. Later, once we reached the first summit, he managed a reluctant smile, explaining, “I’ll smile, but really, it’s an upside-down frown.”

When he was nine, on our first family trip to Europe, we traveled through eight countries in thirty days. In Switzerland, after a long travel day and a two-mile walk from the train station to our hotel, Fin wailed dramatically to passing tourists, “Mommy, Daddy, I think my ribs are breaking!” But the next morning, with regular feeding stops along the way—pizza, fondue, Coca-Cola, hot chocolate—he hiked 24 miles through the Alps like a champ.

The youngest of three boys, Fin had to be resourceful in finding space just for himself.

Over the years, as our boys became men, our family grew too big for one hotel room. When we traveled, the older brothers didn’t want to share their beds with their little brother, so Fin would search for and claim the best nooks and crannies to sleep in. Under desks, inside closets, even at the foot of the beds—he never complained. Instead, he made a game of it, taking pride in finding the coziest and most creative sleeping spots.

Our family loves going to sand dunes, and over the years, we’ve visited many throughout the U. S. When Fin was younger and significantly smaller than his two older brothers, Hayden and Wolf would each grab Fin’s arms and legs, swinging him back and forth, picking up momentum before finally launching him over the top of a sand dune.

Fin was always a good sport, laughing as he tumbled down the sandy slopes. This wouldn’t be possible now, as Fin has outgrown them both—his passion for bodybuilding has made him the biggest of the bros.

Fin gets his name from Finis Mitchell, the legendary mountaineer of the Wind River Range. Like his namesake, our Finis is adventurous. He’s been an outdoorsman his entire life.

We backpacked 160 miles of the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain when Fin was just 11—logging several consecutive 20-mile days—and he rarely complained. At 12, he trekked across glaciers and scrambled up volcanoes in Iceland. And of course, we raised him on epic hikes, llama-packing, and backpacking trips in our beloved Wind Rivers. Even when he didn’t want to go, he always seemed happy once he was out there—arms swinging.

On a Labor Day trip to Clear Lake when he was seven, Fin’s entire load was inside his tiny fanny pack. Inside it, he carried only a small bag of Cheetos and a bottle of Root Beer. The rest of us complained loudly and often under our heavy and towering packs. Fin zipped ahead gleefully, then sprinted back, shouting, “My back doesn’t hurt at all!”

Eventually, Fin carried larger loads and he often remarks that his (outsized) trapezius muscles–his “traps”–are the result of a lifetime spent hiking with a backpack on.

Looking dapper and all grown up. (Photo taken by my oldest son, Wolf, before Fin’s senior prom with his girlfriend, Ava.) 

Food has always been Fin’s love language. When he went to the movies with my dad—his Poppop—he’d choose Red Vines for a snack. But if Poppop asked for one, Fin would think about it before offering the half-eaten one out of his hand.

After a particularly dusty camping trip, we checked into a fancy hotel. Standing on the marble floors in the pristine lobby, covered in grit and grime, Fin inhaled deeply and said, “I love the smell of hotel air.” Pure Fin. We still quote that line every time we transition from wild to comfort.

When he was little, Fin dreamed big. He wanted to own a junkyard and be an inventor. He also wanted to live in an airport so he could enjoy a range of “tasty foods” and travel anywhere, anytime. When he was in third grade, for a favorite travel memory assignment, Fin wrote:

“There are many smells in Las Vegas, such as smoke, hot asphalt—like a warm car, somewhat like an ocean—and crispy fast food. The smell of fast food was so good—I could live off it!”

Fin still has his childlike wonder—it’s just wrapped in a six-foot frame now.

He stands six feet tall and weighs 185 pounds. His passion is bodybuilding, and I’m inspired by his work ethic and dedication. Fin has competed in two natural/OCB bodybuilding contests and earned medals in both. His next competition will be in Denver this August, and he’s hoping to achieve Pro status.

It’s been quite a journey—and team effort—for us to keep him fed and adequately fueled. Whenever Fin returns from the gym, we instruct him, “Let’s see our muscles.” (Jerry and I fast until 5 p.m. every day because, with Fin’s appetite and protein requirements, we can’t afford to feed all three of us throughout the day. Well not quite, but also not far off!)

Fin, during a Clear Lake Labor Day backpacking adventure in 2010.

Fin is also a gifted artist and talented potter. He recently won first place at both the Wyoming State Art Symposium and the Lander Valley High School Art Symposium for his “horse hair” pottery. His pottery creations are proudly displayed throughout our home.

Fin also loves playing tennis, basketball, paddleboarding, surfing, being pulled behind the boat on a tube, stargazing, playing video games, hanging out with his girlfriend Ava, spending time with his friends and brothers, and playing with our dog, Chewy.

He’s become a leader, known for the positive impact he has on younger kids. This summer, he’ll return to work for Lander Parks & Rec, teaching tennis and helping run the kids’ activities program. He’ll also help lead Sinks Canyon Camp, and he was selected as a Junior Counselor for the Young RYLA (Rotary Youth Leadership Association) week-long camp in Estes Park, Colorado.

In the fall, Fin will attend Central Wyoming College. He’s earned various scholarships, including the CWC Ambassador Scholarship. We’re so proud of him!

I’m grateful he won’t be far away—but our home will sure feel different without Fin here. For the past five years, it’s been just the three of us: Jerry, Fin, and me.

It has been one of the greatest joys of my life to raise Fin and I’m so proud of the human and the leader he is becoming.

Finis: You are the best Fin in the universe, and I love you more than life itself!

Thank you for being my boy. For teaching me to notice. For letting me walk beside you all these years.

Congratulations! We can’t wait to watch you soar.

With all my love (and more),

Lil’ Mommy / Mum-Bruv / Mum

Yay for mac & cheese!

The way Fin feels when he’s near water, especially the ocean.

Here’s a timelapse video of the daily photos I captured of Fin every morning before school during his senior year:

• Categories: Family, Life and Leadership
• Tags: empty nesters, graduation, high school graduation, launching, leaving the nest, milestones, raising Finis, sons, tribute to son, youngest son
• Comments: 0 Comments

Raising Our Wolf

May 17th, 2019

“And she loved a little boy very, very much—even more than she loved herself.” –Shel Silverstein

With my Wolf.

We are gearing up for a milestone event in our family. Our oldest son, Wolf, will graduate from high school on Sunday. It’s a first for us. (Our middle son, Hayden, will graduate next year, and our youngest son, Fin, will follow but not for some more years.)

How is it that our first son is graduating from high school? I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true. The “raising” of our children passes in a blink of an eye.  

For a while now, I have teetered between feeling nostalgic (what I call “happy-sad”) and feeling celebratory. I know I’m not unique in how I’m feeling. After all, a gazillion mothers have gone before me in this experience. Still, even though Wolf’s high school graduation is cause for an Epic celebration, I’m feeling a little emotional…

A couple of months ago, during a solitary hike when I was thinking ahead to this milestone, and while having some tears, I realized, When I’m feeling sad, it’s about me, and when I’m feeling excited, it’s about Wolf. This has been helpful for me to remember because while I surely deserve to have some feelings of tenderness right now, this was the plan all along. After all, I’m not raising babies. I’m raising adults. (I am borrowing this apt and wonderful quote from Michelle Obama’s memoir, Becoming.)

Of course, we raise our children so they can leave the nest and soar. We don’t raise them so they can remain dependent and never leave home. That would not be “raising” them.

One of my favorite, and most influential, books is The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran. I turn to its essays often, especially when in need of wisdom. And I always find it. One of my very favorites is the “On Children” essay. I love it so much that I memorized it last Summer, and have recited it to myself on many occasions, almost as a form of prayer and meditation:

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.”

I so love, and trust, these words, even if their wisdom is difficult to implement!

I am grateful to both of my sisters, Alicia and Amber, and to my friends who have gone before me. They have offered wisdom and inspiration and are great examples of how to “do” this milestone event. And, I have coached several women as they were going through this stage. I have recalled, often, the coaching calls and meaningful conversations I’ve had with each of them. It was a tremendous honor for me to be in their corner during such a momentous time in their life, and their sharing about their personal experiences has informed, inspired and comforted me during this bittersweet and tender time. Thank you to all of these special women! I love all of you.

As Wolf’s graduation is now upon us, I would like to put down some words for how I’m feeling as I reflect on our Wolf. If you read on, I thank you for your time, and I promise I won’t be as long-winded as I usually am!

Our all-grown-up and handsome Wolf!

Our Wolf arrived into the world 5 weeks ahead of schedule. He weighed just five pounds and was in critical care for 13 days. Our adorable little baby boy lay there, covered in cords that connected him to various monitors, including oxygen. It was hard to not be worried about our son, what with all the monitors and cords, and our inability to hold him. We prayed–and worried–a lot, even though our neonatal nurse, Gail (an Angel!) assured us that Wolf didn’t have any serious problems. “He just needs a little extra support to develop fully,” she said.

My not being able to hold Wolf was devastating, but I tried to make up for it by constantly being at his side. I sang songs to him. Amazing Grace, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Row Row Row Your Boat, and even Kumbaya. We also read poetry to Wolf, mostly Robert Service poems and of course a little Mary Oliver, too.

Come to think of it, Wolf’s birth story is quite telling. Today, Wolf is a poet, and I can’t help but wonder if those early poetry readings had an influence. He’s always been an early riser and arrives everywhere ahead of schedule. And, if Wolf needs an excuse for his affectionate and positive nature, which he is loved for by many, and also sometimes teased lovingly about, I suppose he could trace it back to all the Kumbaya we sang to him at the start.

Wolf, in Hawaii, at age 4. (What the hat says!)

My favorite, most unforgettable moments from those initial days of Wolf’s life, and of my life as a Mother, were when Wolf would look up at me with his bright blue-grey eyes. It was such a deep and special kind of connecting that happened in those gazes. It was the mother-child connection that formed, and until then, I had never experienced anything like it. (There’s a quote I discovered on Mother’s Day a few years ago: “The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” I couldn’t say it better.)

Wolf would grasp, tightly, my index finger with his tiny hand. He would do this for a long time, without letting go unless I un-grasped his tiny fingers so I could change positions or leave briefly to pump breast milk, use the restroom, or get something to eat.

When I recall those early days of his life, I can still feel him grasping and squeezing my index finger…

For almost two weeks, even though our nurse assured us Wolf was doing great and we could leave his side, to run errands, get a break or to spend a night at home, I seldom did. I never spent a night at home during those 13 days. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave his side. After so many months in the womb, my baby boy was finally here and I wanted only to be with him.

Carrying Wolf on my back in Zion National Park.

As Wolf grew up, he enjoyed spending time alone during which he would write and create stories and act out dramas and comedies with his various wild animal figurines or superheroes. He made sales pitches to us when he wanted something. He made fast friends wherever he went, and has always been thoughtful. For years now he has taken his camera and headed out on mini adventures to capture photos of interesting sights and his closest friends. He performed music and acted in made-up shows during camping trips and here at home, and he delivered presidential speeches to all of us on many occasions. He went on to be in Student Council for 8 years, including Student Body President his senior year and he’s a counselor for a summer leadership camp. Interestingly, these passions are all related to the path Wolf plans to forge. (He’ll attend the University of Wyoming this Fall to study marketing and creative writing, and he plans to continue his musical interests–songwriting and music production–on the side. He will study abroad during his sophomore or junior year. He is very excited, and we’re proud of him for earning significant scholarships.)

Wolf, indicating an early interest in deep thinking.

For as long as I remember, I have loved rising early to catch a sunrise, and I also love to watch a sunset. Over the years, Wolf has often accompanied me to chase a sunrise or chase a sunset.

Sunrise represents the start of something, a newness, a beginning. The sun arrives and greets us. It’s a time of hope and energy and possibility. It’s a time of anticipation and looking forward.

Sunset represents the passing of something, an ending of sorts. The sun leaves us, and in its place is night and darkness. The day is not new but rather expired. At least the day-blind stars become bright and are twinkling. For me, sunset is a time of looking back and reflecting on the day that is passing.

I suppose Wolf’s high school graduation is similar to a sunset. It’s the turning of a page. The end of a chapter. And, it’s a beautiful and spectacular thing to witness.

In recent weeks especially, I find myself hovering, trying to hold Wolf close, to “keep” him near. While I’m doing this and finding ways to “insert” myself into his life, Wolf is so ready to not be monitored and held.

I know it’s time to let go, but dang… 

I can feel Wolf not grasping my finger anymore.  He’s no longer in critical care despite the fact that the risks for him out in the big wide world are likely greater than they were when he was in the earliest days of his life.

In 2015, I took Wolf on a Mother-Son Epic Backpacking adventure where we spent 4 days in the wilderness together, just my oldest son and I. We had a great adventure and meaningful conversations I will never forget. (I took Hayden in 2016, and I will do the same for Fin the summer before he starts high school).

During our mother-son expedition, Wolf climbed Mitchell Peak all by himself. During his mountain climb, I sat on a rock and reflected on my oldest son and on being a mother. While reflecting, I came up with these words to describe Wolf using the letters of his name, and they still fit: Wolf: Wise, Original, Leader, and Fun/Funny.

I saved our deepest talk for Deep Lake, a favorite destination of mine. It was our last day of the expedition and I asked Wolf if we could make a simple promise to one another. He agreed and here’s what we came up with:

Me/”Mooma”: “I promise I will trust you if you promise me you won’t get too close to the edge.”

Wolf: “I promise not to get too close to the edge if you trust me.”

I have tried to remember these promises during Wolf’s last year of high school. It is hard to let go and trust when it comes to our loved ones, but having these promises we made to each other to remember has helped.

As Wolf gets ready to “launch,” I will be working hard to keep my promise and I hope that he will keep his. I say this knowing also that we’re human and we are likely to falter from time to time.

I’m reminded of the quote: “Prepare the child for the road, not the road for the child.” I hope we have prepared Wolf for the road. I can’t wait to see what Wolf makes of his life, and am so blessed to have him for a son.

Now it’s time to celebrate, and we are going to celebrate hard! 🙂

Congratulations to my dear “Wolfie!” We are so proud of you. You are the best Wolf in the Universe, and I love you more than life itself! All my love, and more, Your “Mooma”

A quote Wolf loves, and that perfectly captures Wolf’s current perspective.

For kicks, I took a photo of Wolf (almost) every school morning during his senior year. This is his 12th school year in 12 seconds:

Wolf, with his “Pack.”

• Categories: Adventure, Family, Life and Leadership
• Tags: high school graduation, leaving the nest, milestone, motherhood, parenting, sons, wolf
• Comments: 6 Comments