Sail On

Jack started kindergarten this week, a milestone I've been fantasizing about since he was two years old and I realized two-year-old's don't go to school. I was excited for him, but really didn't feel any of the pangs other moms mentioned in the 2,397 conversations I had about "the kids" this summer.

I have had this whole kindergarten thing down for a while now. I was up on the bus schedule last September. And yet, when Jack let go of my hand and said, "Bye mama," with a shake in his voice that only his parents can hear, I kind of lost it.

Not right away. I watched the bus go down the street, said goodbye to Patrick (who pulled of the great feat of seeing his kid off to school during NY Fashion Week) and Polly (who was also off to her first day back at college), and then promptly lost my mind.

It would be hard for you to tell I've lost it; all the drama is going on inside while I sit, virtually motionless, staring at a screen. Computer screen, TV screen, doesn't matter. You would have no idea that as I calmly watch back-to-back episodes of Reba and eat a giant bowl of popcorn, I'm actually a total wreck. You'd be surprised to learn that me playing endless games of Scramble is really a cry for help. You'd be surprised because I look fine. But inside I'm freaking my shit.

So this week, after the family went off to their three separate corners of the world and I was left to ponder my existence at the kitchen table, I just sat there. Staring at my computer screen. For two hours.

I've been waiting for kindergarten for so long now, I forgot to deal with the reality of it. I already miss the warm, loving bubble that was Montessori preschool and our spontaneous mid-afternoon adventures. But it's more than that. It's the end of a magical, deeply satisfying and at times, profoundly frustrating period of our lives. I was so busy looking at the beginning, I didn't stop to acknowledge the ending.

For so long it was just me and Jack all day, passing the time. I built my days around him and his needs, and later, his wants. I built my life around him, gave up habits, interests and even dreams just to be present. And even though it was challenging on many levels much of the time, I don't regret one minute of it.

I just feel like I need to mark the occasion somehow, this ending. We'll have long, spontaneous days again in summer, for sure, but I'm a busy gal these days. It will never again be like it was. This realization has me completely unglued, and I'm quite certain no amount of screen time is going to cut it. Not even the fall season premieres can stave off this sadness.

My mother sang this to me when I was Jack's age. It seems fitting to share it now, for my little guy and all of his little buds, off to take on the world, jumbo glue sticks in tow.

Bridge Over Troubled Water
P. Simon, 1969

When you're weary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes,
I will dry them all
I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you
I'll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Sail on silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
When you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

When Jack hopped on the bus without a single tear, and bravely went off on his own adventure, I realized how connected we are, and that, just as it was time for him to put on his backpack and face the unknown, it was time for me to do the same.