For the last 3 days or so, I’ve been reminding Kelsey that her puppies cannot attend preschool along with her. That her beloved friends will stay with me in the truck when she goes in to school. She’s battled me on this, using reason, and begging, and every inch of wiggle room a preschooler can come up with in an argument. “But, my puppies are SPECIAL,” she’d whine, clutching the dear friend to her heart. “They are the heart of my life!”
This morning, Kelsey dressed her favorite puppy in a purple dress, getting ready for her first day of preschool. I reminded her that her puppy will have to remain with me while she’s in school. She tried one last time to bargain with me. “But, Mommy, I won’t lose her and I’ll hold on to her all d’ time!” I softly state that preschool is for kids, not puppies.
So we hit the road this morning a little early, as I don’t know my way around terribly well yet and like to have some extra time in case I take a wrong turn somewhere. Kelsey is in her carseat, in her crisp new clothes, her hair smartly contained in matching barrettes, her nametag in place. And she’s strangely silent. Those who know Kelsey know what I mean. Silence isn’t something she is familiar with. So I decided not to fill the silence with talk, but to just let it be quiet.
And all of a sudden, Kelsey says, out of the blue, “Mommy, I’m going to be brave and smart and strong. Here are my puppies.” And she threw her puppies up to me in the front seat. I placed them carefully on the passenger seat, trying to prepare my answer. I think I mumbled out a “I’m so proud of you. I’ll take good care of your puppies.” I mostly just held back the tears, though.
When we got to school, I put Laurel in the sling so I could have both hands free to assist Kelsey and be available for hugs and such. I walked her up to the teacher, and Kelsey turned around to me, asked me for a hug, gave me a kiss, then turned back and walked into her first day of preschool. I followed behind, both to hand off the extra clothes and the nap towel, and also to make sure she was truly OK with my leaving her. And she greeted the other teacher, noted her stuff was in her cubby, sat down at a table, and started working on a puzzle. I snapped a photo, dealt with a very upset Laurel, and Kelsey said, “Bye, Mommy” and went back to her puzzle. I left, looking back to picture this child, on her first day of school. She was ready. It’s like she was poised to jump into this newest stage of her life, and she was full of this amazing grace and beauty.
I took my leave, snuggling Laurel, who was very upset to be leaving her sister and all those FUN NEW THINGS! We had donuts at Krispy Kreme, watching the puddles of rain turn to little rivers, the storm unleashing its wetness while we munched on hot donuts and turned round and round on our stools with big grins and just a little high on donut glaze. It felt a little like we were trying to have fun, to fill the emptiness with sound and movement, missing the one-third of us terribly.
This letting go, after being so attached from day one, this is the most complex of feelings. So much joy, so much pride, so much sadness, and an aching feeling of loss. This makes me love my mother even more. And love being a mother more than any other title I’ve held these 36 years.