It's Not About Me

I'm not sure what made me ask. Maybe because just last week O had told me he was too big for his beloved security blanket, Bean? Maybe because all of the sudden he looked like one of my big kids instead of one of my littles- all angles and long lines instead of soft curves and dimples? Mother's intuition?

"O, is it still ok if I take you to Kindergarten tomorrow?"
"No, just daddy."

The dinner table goes silent.  All at once F and the bigs start arguing my case.

"Mom always goes the first day."
"Mom, you can walk me in."
"O, you'll be sad if you don't have mom with you!"

I interrupt that it's Oliver's choice and I will be just fine at home with the babies.  The table settles into an uneasy silence as if no one actually believes me.
 

Later that night F corners me in the kitchen.

"He's 5! He doesn't get to choose! If you want to go then you go!"

I smile through tears.  I'd love to agree with him, but in my heart I know I can't.

Separation has been difficult for Oliver.  In preschool he kept a picture of me in his cubby to ward off homesick feelings.  Goodbyes had to be quick because lingering hugs would inevitably lead to tears.  Any long weekend or holiday break would mean making the transition to school all over again. It was a rough time for both of us.  We were blessed with teachers that understood O and took his insecurities in stride.  They knew to get him interested in something quickly and if we had a rocky drop off they often took the time to call to let me know that O had settled in happily.

I shouldn't have asked O who he'd like at drop off if I wasn't going to honor his choice. To ignore his preference would send the message that I didn't have confidence in him: I had no problem sending his older brothers off with Frank why not him? As painful as the morning would be I would have to send them off without me.  This day wasn't about me.  It was a milestone for Oliver.   

The next morning came and in a flurry of teeth brushing, cereal eating, and shoe tying it was time for the boys to leave. They loaded into their daddy's truck and pulled away. As they reached the middle of the driveway the truck slowed, a window lowered, and a small voice could be heard yelling "Bye mom! I love you!". With that the tears I'd been holding in burst forth and all I could do is frantically wave back.

Letting go is so very hard. But so very beautiful.