The Last First Day of School

Senior year has come for my youngest. The enormous school bus that dwarfed my kindergartener now seems right sized. The small hand that held mine and, brows furrowed, asked if I could walk them to their classroom now confidently seizes the day and shrugs off any concerns with, “Mom, I’ll be fine.”

On Monday, like any other first day of school, the school bus will come to pick up a beautiful curly-haired little girl. In an outfit decided on the night before, she will walk across the street before the bus arrives, tired because it is early but at the same time eager to see her friends. The bus will arrive, she will board, and as the bus begins to pull away, that is precisely the time when the tears will start to roll.

The tears will start to roll down my face, not hers, because that little girl is no longer little and unlike many other children returning to school, today is her last first day of school. Senior year has come for my youngest.

The enormous school bus that dwarfed my kindergartener now seems right sized. The small hand that held mine and, brows furrowed, asked if I could walk them to their classroom now confidently seizes the day and shrugs off any concerns with, “Mom, I’ll be fine.”

Hand scrawled artwork used to cover the expanse of my refrigerator, but for years now it has remained sterile, resigned to its stainless-steel façade. Homework that involved worksheets, crayons, scissors and a cacophony of giggles lighting up the house has evolved to a laptop, ear buds, and the clacking of typing.

My little girl has grown up and I could not be more proud. And yet, the heart yearns for more time. Time is a river that keeps flowing, even when we get distracted or think time will be on our side. One day you are putting a five-year old on the bus, and the next day they are completing college applications. One day you cannot wait for them to be independent and then all too soon, they are.

The house may not be filled with toothless grins and goofy giggles anymore, but it is still filled with love and laughter. Homework may not be returned with stickers and smiley faces, but the pride of a well-done essay is just as fulfilling. Playdates may have gone by the wayside but playing chauffeur so they can find their tribe and build their support system is equally important. Time marches on, the love stays constant.

August can be chaotic for parents with schedules to align, supplies to buy, and lunches to pack. Take a minute to look at that little child, to soak in the moment. To understand they will never be this little again, and one day—before you are ready—you will wish to be able to come back to this very day. For just one more time.

Monday will be marked by tears only a mother or father can understand. The future holds space for tears of joy, and it is that fact that allows me to wipe the tears as they fall one by one from my eyes.

The school bus heads off into the sunrise, a new day unfolds.