First Day of School Feelings
It’s back to school time. New clothes, new shoes, new backpacks, new school supplies. The new school year means our kids are getting older. They have a new teacher (or teachers), maybe a new building, maybe they’ll make new friends. All of which means new experiences for the year ahead.
My kids started back at school this past Thursday. My oldest, Gabby, started 8th grade, her last year at the middle school. My youngest, Ian, started 1st grade. While my kids were actually somewhat excited to go back to school, I had a feeling of dread over me the entire day. Consciously, I felt excited for both of them. Gabby had told us all these classes she was excited to take this year, which made her excited to go back. Ian…well…if you’ve kept up this far, you know I’m just elated that he even gets to go to school, point-blank-period. Whether you dread it or love it, it’s something I quickly learned to miss while we were in the hospital. I would have much rather have been at home, getting my son ready for kindergarten 5 days a week as opposed to sitting in a hospital room for 3 weeks wondering if he was going to live, and then an additional 6 weeks in an inpatient rehab facility wondering how different his life was going to be.
Ian was only in kindergarten for a couple weeks when his tumor hemorrhaged last year. September 14th was the routine MRI that showed the unexplained growth. September 15th was the morning we spoke with neurosurgery, and that very same night, we were rushing him back down to Children’s Hospital. He went from experiencing no symptoms to ALL the symptoms we were told to look for if hydrocephalus was present. But because it was an active bleed and not just the tumor blocking his ventricles, things turned detrimental more quickly than my mind could keep up with. I remember looking at the ER doctor when he was telling us and just saying “oh,” because I didn’t quite understand the capacity of what he was saying at that time. I remember the surgeon coming in next to explain the drains that would need to be placed in Ian’s head and just, very calmly, asking “so, we’re not doing the surgery we talked about earlier this morning?” I was so not with it in that moment. I could not begin to comprehend what was happening to my baby boy. And then I walked over to his hospital bed, held his hand, looked at his unconscious little face, and started crying hysterically right then and there. It finally registered what was happening.
There are things I remember so vividly that it can feel like I’m back in that moment when I think about it. Then there’s other things I can’t remember at all. On Thursday, as I got my kiddos ready for their first day of school, I felt a feeling I can only describe as dread. The feeling of the year anniversary since Ian’s brain injury became very real, and very raw. And yet, somehow, we have to keep pushing forward when those times arise. I still had to send Ian, and Gab for that matter, to school. I still had to go to work after getting them on their busses. I still had to take care of myself and fight the urge to crawl under my blanket and do absolutely nothing. How do I do it? I have no freaking idea. Maybe it’s Ian’s excitement before and after school that makes it easier. Maybe it’s something I’ve just learned to live with after all this time. Maybe it’s our faith in something bigger than us that holds us up to keep us going when we are literally falling on our knees. Heck, I’m falling on my face most days. Whatever it is, we just have to keep going.
As the one-year mark gets closer and closer, I’m trying to remember to be extra kind to myself, as well as others. I’m trying to be more grateful for where we are right now. I’m trying to create more memories because tomorrow isn’t promised. I no longer wish to live a life where I’ll do this someday or that thing tomorrow. All we have is now. Be more present.