The first day of Kindergarten is the last day of being a baby—or so it felt. I’ve spent the greater part of my day crying—tears I wasn’t quite expecting. I’ve been proud of my little boy and excited for every new step in his life, but this morning was different. We walked out of the house and I took his hand. I squeezed his hand tightly, not wanting to let go. Not ever wanting to let go. The bus stop is a couple of streets away and it gave me enough time to hold onto him a little longer. By time we reached the second street, my husband told me I didn’t have to hold his hand on the trafficless street. And for a second, I felt silly, so I loosened my grip and gave him the opportunity to take his hand away. But he didn’t let go. He still needed me.
His nerves subsided when he found other children at the bus stop and that immediately eased some of my nerves, as well. I actually started to feel okay about the whole getting on the bus situation. But that was only until the bus arrived. He gave me a quick hug, and I squeezed him again. I realized this was it: I was letting him out into the real world without me. I had to trust that he would find his way.
He didn’t look back as he stepped onto the bus. He took a seat in the second row and didn’t look out the window because he couldn’t even see out of it—he’s too little. I dug my fingers into my sides and pressed until I could compose myself, preventing my emotions from making a scene in front of all the other moms and dads who were waving ferociously at their kids. I held it in.
I held it in until the bus started to roll and his little hand popped up into the window and waved at us. That was all it took.
I spent the next seven hours shedding unnecessary tears, reminiscing about bringing him home from the hospital and wondering where the last 5.5 years have gone. Today was a great eye-opener on how fast life goes by.
I’m thinking I should stop blinking.
My little trooper hopped off the bus at the end of the day with a smile and grabbed my hand. He squeezed my hand tightly, and he didn’t let go of me until we were home. He still needed me. Then he spent the next hour telling me every detail I missed out on today.
We both survived the day, he more than I.
I’m still weepy as I write this post, but they’re tears of pride—knowing I’ve done a good job of getting him to where he is, and giving him the confidence to get on the bus without me by his side.
I know I’m not alone in this, and I’m sure I’m scaring some moms who haven’t gone through this yet. I can’t lie and say it’s easy, though. When you love something so much, you never want to let it go. But sometimes love is . . . letting go.
