Today my son would be entering high school with his friends from many years. However, he will make this transition in a few weeks in his school out of state. It is at these rituals where I become a bit of a weepy mess.
Our normal is not one that feels familiar or right. I want to be able to watch parents and children together, but find that I have zero tolerance for the sight of them and god forbid the sounds of a crying toddler.
I want to be able to watch the back to school commercials that run incessantly at this time, but the thought of not buying supplies, clothes, a backpack and getting it all ready for the first day makes me want to pull the TV out of the wall.
I want to drive the streets behind the yellow school buses and look in the windows during a red light and give a slight smile to the kids on their way to a new grade, a new adventure, but I am happy to be on a train with my dark sunglasses on and reading a newspaper oblivious to the school buses that take up the streets below.
During this time, I will have to come to terms that our firsts are going to be different. While I intellectually know this to be the case, emotionally, the loss is pretty close to the surface. I am certainly grateful for all the excellent work, grades, and growth that has taken place.
But I really just want to pick out his first day of school clothes, put him on a bus, and then hear how his first day of high school is over dinner. We would then go to sleep and doing it again for 179 other days. Just like I imagined.
I get so emotional, every time I think of you . . .