I Did It!

The cap rests gently on close-cropped hair—
no curls to pin,
no strands to tame—
just me,
bare and bold beneath the tassel’s sway,
wearing a hand-painted Karabela gown from Haiti,
my roots stitched into every thread.

My eyes search the crowd—
not for cheers,
but for the space left empty,
where my birth parents might have stood,
hands clasped, proud,
if life had drawn a different map.

But my family is here—
my dad, my anchor, my steady world,
my twin sister, half my heartbeat in another body,
my mom—complicated, but still loved,
and my younger sister,
adopted before me,
a quiet link to Haiti,
to home.

The air is thick with memory.
This is the second time I’ve crossed a stage—
but the final chapter in my academic journey.
No more chasing degrees.
No more looking back.
I end this story in triumph.

The words on my diploma read:
Master of Science in Childhood and Special Education—
but they carry so much more.
They say:
I broke cycles.
I survived storms.
I built a future no one could see but me.

There was a time
when high school hallways felt like cliffs,
when my own mind
pulled harder than gravity.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t learn—
it was the silence between thoughts,
the noise only I could hear.

Still, I walked on.
I learned to rest, not quit.
And now—
I rise.

Somewhere far from here,
my birth parents once whispered
a wish into the wind:
that I might have a life brighter than their own.
They could not stay to see it,
but today,
I am living proof
that hope does not die in the dark.

No one claps louder for me
than the girl who once sat in silence,
staring at blank walls,
wondering if she’d ever feel whole.
She’s still here.
She made it.
And she’s smiling.

I am strong.
I am worthy.
I am radiant.

Congratulations, love.
You did it.

And now—
I carry this light into every classroom,
every child I teach,
every soul still learning to rise.
I am not just a graduate.
I am a mirror of resilience,
a vessel of hope,
a story still unfolding.