I sobbed today. Like a child. I cried harder than I have in a long while. The type of cry where you can’t catch your breath and you know you should stop but you can’t. This was a strange cry, though. It wasn’t totally out of sadness, but also not totally out of happiness. It was a combination, like an odd no-man’s land of emotion; stuck between feeling idiotic for crying, and feeling validated in the tears.
“Mommy, I am going to miss you. I am not sure I want to go.”
Alden went to Kindergarten. And he went on the bus. And he looked so little with his huge, fluorescent backpack hanging off him. In his little shark jacket, standing in the rain waiting for “the big cheese” to pick him up. A million things ran through my head, yet nothing really registered. I took a deep breath as the bus pulled up, he gave me a big hug, and a masked kiss, hesitated slightly, and then climbed the stairs. In an instant, the bus drove away.
Watching him go was like my heart being outside of my body. There is nothing I can do about it, he is ready. But, I am not. I am surely not the only person to experience this, and I won’t be the last. But damn. This hit me harder than I ever imagined.
Are kids going to be mean to him? He is emotional, he is sensitive, he is easily frustrated and
hard on himself. Precious few can calm him and get him to understand he is enough just the way he is. Will he cry? Will kids laugh at him for crying? Will he overcompensate by being a wild man and goofy to hide his trepidation? He is his mother’s son after all. Will he be safe? He is unvaccinated, and although he will be masked, I cannot control others and the decisions they make. The school is secure, but will someone seemingly “in-charge” do harm? Is he going to be scared? What will run through his little head as he sees new faces, some kind, some angry, some mean, some scared, too? Will he know what to do when it is lunch or snack time and he won’t get help opening everything? Will he speak up when he needs help or is confused?
I am still crying.
As this instinctual protective catharsis has taken over, I am reminded of all I have done to get him here. I would literally die for him. A slow, painful, horrific death- if it meant he would be okay. And, as I sit and pour my innermost thoughts onto this screen, I am brought to understand that he will be alright. I have tried so hard, with every ounce of myself, to make him ready. To make him kind. To make him strong. To make him inquisitive. To make him independent. To make him not need me. That’s the goal, isn’t it?
What I get now, is that I need him more than he needs me. I need him to know that I would walk through hell; the deepest, darkest, loneliest, scariest, wildest of places, just to keep him safe. I need him to keep laughing at farts, or saying “Mommy look!” I need him to always tell me when he is not okay- even though I sometimes get flustered and annoyed at his incessant “needing” me. I take it back. I need him to need me. And now that he doesn’t need me as much as he did yesterday, I want to hit rewind.
But I can’t.
All I can do now, is watch proudly as he navigates this new chapter on his own. As he learns, and grows, and laughs, and loves, without me.
I can also cry a little more. And then I will be a big girl, and get on with my day.
Today’s song (thanks, Justin for another perfect fit that… surprise! Also made me cry) is So Long, Honey by Caamp
"Some day honey, you have to come back down, and when you do, I will be hanging around"
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