Meeting the teacher brought forth a lot of new emotions. It was as if I could see my son making all these memories and growing in this space. I wouldn’t be able to see the first of everything anymore. She would… they would…and I wasn’t sure how I felt.
This place would hold new memories, the library, cafeteria, just everywhere. It was filled with lots of moving parts and people.
I found myself trying to process while having a small window to meet his teacher and take in his classroom. To the best of my ability, I attempt to explain to him what will take place in just 2 more “night sleeps,” all while I’m now questioning If I should keep him home another year. I’m grateful my mom was with me and helping me navigate everything, but I even got snappy with her. As I said, I was processing, and she was doing the same, but I started to feel rushed. Rushed to drop him off, rushed to send him to school, rushed, rushed, rushed, and then I got to the exit door. I was letting people in, not realizing the line behind me. She noticed that people were scooting on her, so she gently scooted up on me to move me along, but of course, I was in my thoughts and not fully aware of what was going on, and I snapped, “Do you want to lead ?”
She continues to walk, and I quickly snap out of it and apologize. She explained how the people behind her were being, and my heart sank.
She was trying to move me along, but I didn’t want to. It was me… I didn’t want to move along.
Meeting his teacher, the first go around was so quick I didn’t get the best feeling when I entered. I want to give her the details of this exceptional student, my precious boy, but she had other students and parents doing the same. We left and returned to drop off his supplies; this time, the classroom was empty. She was there, and I could talk. This allowed me to feel at ease, and I could look her in her eyes and just tell her a few details about who would be entering her class in 2 days.
The following day during my quiet time, I balled. I cried and cried; sometimes, a prayer for me isn’t words. It’s tears, and right then, that’s all I had. I went to the window where I love to sit and watch the sunrise, and when I looked out the window, I could see the beautiful colors in the sky, but the morning dew on the window made it foggy. As soon as I got up, the top portion of the window was transparent, and I was able to see the details in the sky, and right then God reminded me how I can see the beauty ahead from sitting down (through tears), but if I stand up in the same space and in the same window, the sunrise is much more apparent.
I remember dropping off my first son at preschool. It was his first time away from home, and I had enrolled him early because I was about to start working and wanted to ease him into the transition. After spending three full years at home with him, I thought I’d be ready—but the moment I walked away, a giant lump formed in my throat. I ended up sitting in a nearby shopping center, glued to the cameras, crying my heart out.
Now, as a mom of four sons, I can say it gets easier in some ways. But that deep attachment at every milestone never goes away. Even as they get older, I still look at them and picture the first day I held them in my arms. Fast forward to today—my first baby is now in 9th grade—and once again, I felt that same lump in my throat as I watched him take another big step.