by Gaye Butler, M.A.

The day I had both looked forward to and dreaded had finally arrived; my youngest child was going to kindergarten. She seemed a little anxious but mostly excited to get on with the grand adventure she had watched her older brothers and sisters experience from the safe confines of home. I had rehearsed in my mind a hundred times how I would act if she cried, if she panicked, or if she simply froze in place. A lovely little speech about how proud and confident of her I felt was firmly set in my plan for saying good-bye once I had delivered her to her school room.

But none of that actually happened. I walked her up to the school doors after parking my car in the appropriately marked parking spot, but was blocked from entering by one of the staff members standing near the entrance. As it turned out parents weren’t allowed past the door. I had no script for this. I said a weak good-bye as my daughter happily followed the staff member inside. Was that it after all those years of imagining what it would be like?

I felt so empty and alone. Just like that I slipped into a new phase of my life where the day no longer was driven by the needs and desires of preschoolers. And all of a sudden I wasn’t sure I knew how to live in the midst of this transition. I sat in my car for a while and let the warm tears roll down my cheeks until I felt ready to turn the ignition and point the car toward the exit. It wasn’t the way I imagined, but I really was proud and confident in my little kindergartner.