Separation Anxiety

Last Monday was my five year old's first day of kindergarten, after 18 months of a pandemic, and 18 months of being home with me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

It didn't go well.

For him. 

For me.

It began with a somewhat muted fear leading up to the moment when he was to stand in line with the rest of the children with his backpack on, mask on, eyes up, waiting for direction, quietly waiting for the teacher to lead him away from me and into the unknown of a classroom he had never seen before. 

As we approached the line, his hand squeezed mine so tightly, and he looked at my face.

He started to cry and he started to cling to me and I hugged him tight and then tighter because I didn't know how to NOT hug him tight, and the teacher had to pry his body away from mine. 

Please. Please just let us hold on to each other. Just one more minute. Please.

He was separated from me, finally, while he was still crying. And I went and sat in my truck and wept deeply until I felt nauseated and then I stopped crying and got my face ready for a Zoom meeting.

On Tuesday he was crying as I got him out of his car seat and out of the truck and as I carried him to the drop off location he screamed "why do you not love me anymore???" and he told me his heart was hurting him and I told him he needed to be brave. He told me he didn't love me anymore and he didn't want to hug me because I was tricking him into going to school. 

Then he wouldn't go inside the building until I hugged him, and when I hugged him he clung to me and I clung to him. And again we were pried apart and I almost grabbed him and ran back to the truck, because of the sadness in his eyes and the arms reaching out for me. 

Please. Please just let us hold on to each other. Just one more minute. Please.

But he was taken into the building, kicking and screaming, and I went and sat in my truck and wept until I started coughing and then I stopped crying and got my face ready for another Zoom meeting.

Wednesday was the same. 

Please. Please just let us hold on to each other. Just one more minute. Please.

And then him crying in his classroom, and me crying in my truck. 

But then Thursday was better, because by Thursday he understood I was coming back at the end of the day to get him, and he saw how happy I was when I gathered him into my arms, and he knew he would fall asleep right next to me, on the bed or the couch, as soon as we got home.

And Thursday was better, because by Thursday I understood that he understood that I would always come back, and I didn't feel like I had failed him.

My mom loved me, I think, but then one day she decided she didn't want to be a mom anymore, and she stopped wanting to take care of me, and she left, even though I was crying through the door she had shut in my face.

My son went to daycare one day when he was 18 months old and while he was in school his father hung himself and left his life forever.

So when my son clings to me and I cling to him and it is hard to pull us apart, please. Please just let us hold on to each other. Just one more minute. Please.