I never liked the the first day of school; not as a student, or as a parent, and not now as a grandparent. I won't delve into the roots of my own neuroses, by I didn't want to be in school so used to regularly just leave and go home. It must have driven my mother mad, and likely did not endear me to my brother who was summoned to take me back. As time went on I got better at going to, and staying in, school, but the first day of each year tended to be fraught. As a parent, it was hard for me to send my boys off to school, especially if it was a new one. They always looked especially vulnerable and I had everything in me crossed that they would like their teacher, have a friend in their class, and start the year off positively. Maybe I was just projecting my own childhood fears, but even if the week before I may have wanted to lock them in their rooms until school started, that first day each year was hard.
Our kids are over thirty years past that first day of school but I recall them as though it were yesterday. Today our grandson goes to school for the first day of the many that he will spend at school. He is ready; he's smart and prepared and excited. But I think I need a moment to mourn.
This is the first step away from our care and influence; the first step towards a life independent of his parents. That this is normal, that it is necessary and that he is capable and will cope, have no bearing on the sense of loss I feel today.
The little bundle that I loved from the first minute, is growing up. Gone is the sleeping baby in my arms, the toddler who cuddled, the companion in the carseat and on the path. He will be gone during the day now. Soon he'll have playmates for after school, homework in the evening and activities to participate in. I know it's a really emotional, and probably silly reaction; it's not like I will never see him again. But it will now be different...
And I just need a minute to wallow... Where's the damn kleenex box.
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