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
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