I didn't think I'd be one of those mothers. Looking down, holding back tears.
The sun dappled down in soft flecks as he took his place in line. Ready. He stood in the middle, the safest spot, fancy new back back on his back, hair smoothed, favorite shirt on. Smiling that there were so many boys, new fun boys, in his class.
I expected to be the well-dressed mother, hair done, jewelry on, snapping pictures with the fancy digital camera. The mother that waves, blows kisses, and then turns to leave with a glee smile.
"Free at last!" I'd shout it to the rooftops.
But I wasn't that woman.
In denial of the day, I'd never put on that make-up or that jewelry. Instead I packed and repacked the lunch. Checked and double checked the back pack. Changed the baby's diaper one more time.
So, as the sun shone down on that lovely line of 5-year-olds, waiting expectantly to enter their new classroom - with their darling, fashionable, young teacher - instead of waving good-bye cheerfully, I looked down to hide my welling eyes.
It wasn't the vision of him there, ready to begin a new life, that did it.
It was the memories, swimming in my ears, of my baby. The one I'd hovered over at night, insuring he was still breathing. The toddler who had gripped my hand so tightly as we waddled down the street to our favorite park. The three-year-old running his fingers through my hair at night. The four-year-old planning forts for just the two of us.
Those children, those incarnations were gone. And this moment made that clear.
Today, I wasn't the woman I wanted to be.
But he was the boy he was meant to be. Happy, confident, ready.
And that should be the end of this story.
