August 31, 2017
There has never been a child more eager to start kindergarten than my youngest. It was as if she believed school held a grand secret that she was finally being invited to discover. Once she uncovered this secret, she would achieve what every 5-year-old dreams of becoming…BIG.
I managed not to shed a tear as she walked to the bus, hand in hand with her older brother. I didn’t cry as the bus pulled away, her little face pressed against the glass, beaming and waving. Even as my husband and I strolled back up the hill, basking in the unusual silence of being alone together for the first time in what felt like ages, I remained composed. We exchanged looks, asking ourselves, now what? What comes next?
After spending six years as a stay-at-home mom, what was I supposed to do now? Sure, I had experienced solitude before when my daughter attended preschool, but this day felt distinctly different. Life had shifted. It was as if an invisible cord binding us had been severed, and I hadn’t even realized it existed until that moment.
During significant milestones in our children’s lives, time seems to stretch. Details become clearer, colors more vibrant, and emotions heightened. I can’t shake the memory of that first day alone in my home; initially, I was thrilled: I have 7 hours and 26 minutes of freedom! I could tackle my to-do list, organize my life, exercise at my leisure, prepare dinner, and even finish that book I’ve been writing.
But then the weight of the moment settled in. Seeing her toys scattered around the house didn’t spark the usual irritation. As I folded her now larger clothes, a nostalgic ache hit me hard in the chest. There were times when I momentarily forgot I was alone, my thoughts drifting to, where is she? Then reality would sink in, and my heart would plummet.
I found myself making lunch and eating in silence, without the constant chatter or complaints about the shape of the apples. I wondered, what is she doing right now? Is she scared? Happy? Does she have a friend? Is she eating her lunch?
The stillness of that afternoon felt unbearable. A voice in my head cruelly reminded me, “An important part of your job is done.” And it was. An essential chapter of my motherhood journey had closed. I never anticipated that, after surviving the chaos of the terrible twos and threes, I would miss those days so soon. The videos I made of those early years, once a source of joy, became too painful to watch. Hearing her sweet little voice say “camel milk” instead of “cantaloupe” shattered something deep within me. Nobody warned me that the hardest part of motherhood isn’t the struggles but rather the bittersweet process of letting go.
When she finally stepped off the bus that afternoon, her eyes sparkled with the knowledge of the secret to kindergarten. She looked proud yet still seemed to think, I know the secret, but there’s my mom. I still need my mom.
She rushed into my arms as if we’d been apart for ages. In that moment, she felt so small, her dirty little face still the one I had kissed and held every day of her life. All I wanted was to hug her and freeze time.
And then, yes, the tears came. I was overjoyed to have her back and also painfully aware that I needed her just as much.
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Summary
The transition to kindergarten can be a bittersweet experience for parents, filled with a mix of pride and heartache. As children embark on new adventures, parents often grapple with feelings of loss and nostalgia, reflecting on the fleeting nature of childhood. The moment of separation can evoke unexpected emotions, reminding us that while our children grow, the bond we share remains vital.