A few weeks ago my first child went off to kindergarten.
I didn't trust myself the morning of his first day. As if spending the last five years intentionally investing every single day in a child you love to the depths of your soul and suddenly handing that job over to a stranger for the majority of the child's waking hours isn't hard enough, I'd just had a baby 3 days prior and knew I wasn't quite myself.
When we got inside I watched him walking away from me with his "Cars" backpack swinging with every step. For about 10 seconds tears fell as I let my mind wander back to the past. I could see his little 2 year old face, his diapered bottom, the way he used to talk. My throat tightened and my lungs were about to explode. I knew if this happened it was gonna be ugly. I mentally slapped myself, Not now Angie! I pulled it together, gave him a huge hug and made my exit, trying not to breathe.
I still need to find time for that breakdown/mourning session to happen. There's alot that needs to be processed. My journey with this child has been so life-changing. Fighting for him, desperately trying to understand his sensory difficulties. Battling against my flesh, learning to choose ways that lead to life like asking for forgiveness and refusing resentfulness of the hard moments. Freedom-filled days going to the zoo or the playground or wherever we wanted, making rich memories.
And I know the journey isn't over, but it is certainly different. We (especially Madison) miss him during the day. I've already gotten to talk and pray with him about difficulties with friends. About being afraid to speak up and ask for help. About trying to encourage more and compete less.
I sure love being a part of helping him grow. He's a pretty special guy.