Back to School Sucks When You’ve Lost a Child
It’s “Back to School” season, y’all, and I am NOT here for it this year.
(Well, to be honest, I’ve never really been here for it, because I’m a full-time middle school English teacher so this time of the year always means going back to work.)
But this year? This year has been the worst “Back to School” ever.
Not only am I mentally and physically exhausted from grieving, but OH MY WORD the sadness that comes along with seeing and hearing everyone talking about their kids is a nightmare. This would have been Libby’s 6th grade year – her last year in elementary school. Many of her friends were sixth graders who are now off to middle school and I see them here every day, a glaring reminder of what I’ve lost.
I have girls from her dance team in my class. I have siblings of her best school friends in my class. I have amazing co-workers who check on me, and friends who text me to see how I’m doing.
What I DON’T have is my daughter. I don’t have the overwhelming “mom-love” moment of walking into her room every morning to see her peaceful sleeping face and waking her up gently with a kiss on the forehead and a “Good morning, Libberbeans.”
I don’t get to listen to her chatting away, sitting on the closed toilet seat while I finish my makeup in the bathroom, or the joy of slipping a love note into her lunch bag and imagining the smile on her face when she reads it.
I don’t see her face peek in my classroom door at the end of each day after the elementary school bus drops her off at the middle school, and I don’t get to hear about her teachers and friends and assignments as we walk out to the car and drive home.
I don’t get to yell reminders up the steps that she needs to hurry up and change into her dance clothes or else she’s going to be late. I don’t get to sing with her in the car as we drive to her lessons, or listen to her talk about her solos and which songs she likes on the way home.
I don’t get to joke with her about only ever wanting to eat noodles when it’s time for dinner, or argue with her about brushing her hair when she gets out of the shower.
I don’t get to sing her our song before bed, or feel so incredibly lucky every night when I tuck her in and she tells me I’m the BEST. MOM. EVER.
And I don’t really know how to get over those things. I miss them all so incredibly much – those million little moments that made my relationship with Libby so special. There is a constant ache in my heart and soul.
You know how the “self-help” gurus all say to pick an empowering word, phrase, or theme for each year? This year, my word is SURVIVE. That’s it. I’m not putting pressure on myself to do great things, or be inspirational, or be the best “me” that I can be. I’m just going to show up for my responsibilities, do what I can, and give myself as much grace as possible.
Because, like I’m sure all other grieving parents feel, I’ve lost the best child ever. And my life is dark, and lonely, and pretty bitter right now – “Back to School” has become a season of sadness. It’s a very visible reminder of all that she’s missing out on, and all that I’m missing not being able to watch her grow up.
But I guess that’s how it’s supposed to be when your love is SO unbelievably deep. ❤️
