Back To School Breakdown.
I almost had a breakdown walking through the Back To School section of Walmart this afternoon. I was pushing along, looking for a doggy gate to keep Heckyl and Jeckyl from ransacking my bedroom again, and I stumbled upon the school supplies aisle.
Moms and Dads bustling about, frantically grabbing items, scouring their lists, pushing their children along. There are children everywhere with sparkling notebooks and bookbags, begging Mommy for the “cool mechanical pencils” instead of the cheap, rubbery No. 2’s that never seem to get sharp enough despite how many times you sharpen them.
I stand there staring. I can’t move. I remember school shopping with you. I remember the frustration of having to push through the aisles. I remember how much I dreaded it.
I can’t breathe. There is a stone in my throat and I can’t swallow. “Don’t cry. You’re being ridiculous. You can’t freaking CRY in Walmart. Get it together. Move. Moooooove, Mollie.”
It took a concentrated effort, an act of God Himself, to push me along past that painful moment when time stopped and the realization that you’re no longer here with me. There won’t be a list this year, not for me. No 9th grade supplies. No “…but Mommmm… I need that Five Star Binder for Algebra. I don’t want the regular binder.” No hustle and bustle for me. We won’t be organizing backpacks, picking out First Day outfits and waking up together for your first day of High School. Ever. Again. I don’t get to experience this because you are gone and I am cracked straight through to my core and I don’t know how to handle it.
I’d buy you 10 Five Star binders if you were here with me. I may go buy one anyway.
I miss you son. More than you will ever, ever know.
Posted on July 21, 2013, in Uncategorized and tagged back to school, depression, failure, freshman, high school, loss, mothering, parenting, regret, sadness, son. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.