On Labour Day weekend, the local newspaper was full of back-to-school stories -- including a full two-page spread on the burning question of how old kids should be before they're allowed to walk to school by themselves. The general consensus seemed to be 9. (!)
(Back in the Dark Ages (cough cough), unless the weather was really rotten, I walked to school. By myself at first; later, usually with my sister. In kindergarten, that was six blocks, by myself. Across a highway.)(Granted, this was a small rural town in the 1960s, and there wasn't much traffic -- and everyone else walked too.)(But, I digress....)
On Labour Day, a FB friend (albeit a fellow loss mom) posted her annual moan about how she did not want to send her kids back to school the following day. (Or set an alarm clock -- which may have been the true issue, lol.) Next year, her oldest will be off to university. I can just imagine her posts then...!
Actually, I've already had a taste of what's to come. A (non-ALI) blogger I don't really "know" but follow just sent her oldest child off to university and has been writing about it (albeit writing beautifully).
And a non-ALI online friend just installed her oldest child in her first apartment this weekend. The family lives less than an hour away -- a heck of a lot closer to home than I was for most of my university career -- and that was long before Internet, email, Skype, texting and cheap long distance phone calls. (I called my parents once a week, usually on Sunday nights.) Later on moving day, the mom posted on FB that she was bawling her eyes out over a restaurant dinner.
Even then, I was doing OK -- until one of her friends commented, "You can do hard things -- you are a MOM!"
Like moms have the market cornered on "doing hard things"??! (I'm sure that wasn't the intended meaning -- but that was my first reaction.)
Yes, I'm sure it's hard to watch your children leave the nest. But of course, I wouldn't know that -- would I?
But I do know something about saying goodbye to your child -- your only child -- forever. And never seeing her grow up and go off to school at all. And be reminded of it every single September.
(For the record, Katie would have started Grade 11 this fall.)(That's a junior, for those of you south of the border.)