Back to School

As I take my morning walk before the heat rises, I pass groups of moms and grandmas, with an occasional dad, taking photos of their elementary school aged children waiting for that big yellow bus to whisk them off to school.

Kids dressed in their carefully selected first day of school outfits carrying their brand new backpacks filled to the brim with sharpened pencils, treasured school supplies, and boxes of tissues to supply classrooms through flu season.

Some look excited, others look terrified.

As I turn back into the direction of home, I pass the adults returning to their homes or cars. Some are crying, others look happy and proud.

I get home to wake my 13-year-old for their delayed 8th grade start time. Mine is also straddling between excitement and terror. How will their teachers be? Will they be able to make new friends after their best friend moved up to high school?

Turning away like a rock star escaping paparazzi, they block my chance of a back-to-school photo on the way to the car. Their vibrant dyed red hair picks up the sun like a magnet. Despite their independent teen attitude, they look proud and relieved to hear, “Great choice on your outfit today.”

As I approach the drop-off circle, they take a deep breath, and say, “Okay, here I go.”

As I smile at the security person guiding me out of the parking lot, I take a deep breath. How will this year go? Will their teachers be nice? Will they make good friends?

Will they be okay this year? Will the cutting stop? Will their suicidal thoughts get worse?

In years past, I was that crying mom, calling her husband for support and comfort after parting ways with her preschooler or kindergartner. My separated husband no longer a potential source of comfort, I stand on my own. Happy and proud of how my child and I have grown, especially over this past year. Terrified and excited at what could be, I take a deep breath and drive. “Okay, here we go.”