the night before

His lunch is prepared, a salami sandwich, some watermelon and a note from dad.  His backpack is hanging by the door, sharpened pencils inside.  He has a new raincoat and first day clothes courtesy of grandparents, and has been receiving good luck texts and toys from cousins and friends.
He said yesterday that his heart was feeling kind of glassy, and I think I know precisely what he means.
I want to be an octopus, to hold on to everything, his hand and his small boyhood.  His fragile heart.
We're all a bit nervous, but mostly curious and eager.
We said a short sending prayer, to help him find friends and be a friend, to help him do good and be better, to help me let go.
He is ready for this.  We are ready for this.