My daughter's graduation

My daughter graduated last night from grade twelve. Did I cry? Of course. How could my baby be 18 already, leaving high school, and leaving home in September. I don't get it. I've had her for 18 years now, known her whereabouts just about every minute of her day, and now, well, she's her own amazing person. Doing her own things, living her own life. She's leaving next year to go to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in LA. Okay, so I'm crying again. She won't live in our house next year!
I watched stunned as she walked across the stage in her cap and gown. That was the morning. Then the afternoon was spent getting her hair and make-up done and putting on her beautiful dress. She went with the short style. We gathered as parents to drink champagne and watch our not-so-young children climb into the limo-bus. There were twenty-eight in my daughter's group who were celebrating together. The girls looked fabulous in their dresses and up-dos and the guys looked fabulous too in their suits and ties. Many I'm sure have never worn a tie before. Okay, so more tears are flowing, just remembering. To be perfectly cliched and write like Peanuts Snoopy from the comics; All in all, it was a beautiful night. (I think he says it was a dark and stormy night.) My daugher gave the toast to the teachers at the dinner and, of course, I cried through that. I thought she was amazing. She talked about being scared but being ready to move on.
Really???
Is she really 18? Is she really old enough to be finished grade twelve?
Can you tell, she's my first to leave the nest?
Yikes.
Didn't she just start kindergarden?
Okay, okay. I'll be quiet.
Sniff. Sniff.