Another Last First

Dear Addie,

…And then it was your last year in elementary school. A big 5th grader in a school we’ve grown to love so much.

As cliché as it sounds, I feel like we blinked and now we’re here. A family full of all big kids, with our baby, you, being almost 11 years old and leaving us dangerously close to closing a school chapter in our story. There’s a flurry of emotions that somehow, I didn’t expect heading into this week from exciting to nerve-wracking, to even a bit sad all in the same breath. But here we are.

Having learned my lesson from the previous week, there has been a fair share of talk about school starting. We must’ve done an adequate job because Monday morning I woke you up and said “It’s time to wake up, let's go to school!” and you popped out of bed like it was a fire drill. Now while your actions seemed everything geared up and ready to go – you were quiet. No words or noises even, just calm and compliant. You didn’t look sick or feel warm so feeling this was perhaps your way of dealing with first-day jitters, I didn’t think much of it, and off to school we would go.

As we sat in our carpool, I found myself watching all the new kindergarteners walk up with their parents and all I could think about was how much time has passed since you were that small and in their position. How much different your kinder year was to theirs. Funny enough with life being the way it is right now my mind didn’t immediately go to any pandemic protocol type of way, but in the ease of which the children were freely heading in for their first day of school. Ours was nothing that I can recall that would’ve been described as “ease.” It resembled something more of teetering on the edge of a meltdown over balloons at the entrance, the chaos of people, and let’s not forget the overwhelming noise of music, chatter, and bus engines. It was in this moment of reflection that I’m reminded of perspective. I’m sure the new kinder parents and students would’ve loved to have had the balloons and music, but instead, they got masks and social distancing. They, oddly enough, got a scene I probably would’ve wished for all those years ago really. Honestly, I cried in my car after dropping you off that year because truthfully, I wanted what everyone else had. The smiles, the pictures, the whole experience – instead I felt an abundance of anxiety, sadness and guilt and it wasn’t your fault baby girl – this journey we're on is just a process. This year I heard parents weren’t allowed to walk their kids to their classrooms, something I’m sure they saw for this moment in their family’s story. But it didn’t go that way. I felt bad for all of them because I do know what that feels like to wish things would’ve gone a different way. To feel somewhat cheated if you will. For the record in our special needs journey, 8 years of schooling now (including preschool), we’ve never walked you to a classroom. We learned early on to leave our hearts with someone else, say a prayer, and just trust everything will go well. It’s not to say those new kinder parents weren’t in their right to want to do such a thing as to see their child off and make sure they made it in fact to their class, it’s just one of those things that were never in the cards for us – our transition process was different, it needed to be different – but I’m sure the feelings were all the same. I can’t help but wonder if any of them maybe cried a bit that day too, for different reasons no doubt but because they to somehow were overwhelmed with perhaps feeling cheated? But I digress…

I left my heart with someone else for the last first day of elementary school this week, and just like that, I was suddenly alone. Everyone was at work or school and there was an odd silence. I filled the void with running errands, cleaning, and planning dinner, but after having spent so much time together I really couldn’t wait to pick you all up for our chaos to resume. Funny how I should’ve been relishing in this “me time,” but I didn’t quite feel completely me with everyone gone. Weird right?!

I had a special treat for each of you at pick up that first day, nothing big just a little favorite snack or drink, yours was Gatorade, actually, an easy choice as the day was another sweltering one here in the south. Now some might find that an odd choice for you, but if anyone knows you, they know you use to only consume Gatorade until we successfully transitioned you to water (the struggle was real!) Now it’s something that is only given on occasion because you could without a doubt put Joey Chestnut to shame with how many you could throwback, the joys of OCD. If you see a 12 pack of Gatorade you must finish a 12 pack of Gatorade. So, today was a single, but large bottle of Gatorade.

It didn’t take long for you to come walking out and I was buckling you into the car, I gave you your treat and fully anticipated big smiles and joyous stimming, but instead, you set it on the seat next to you. I immediately thought, What the heck?! But my thought was somewhat fleeting as Ms. Michelle then told me you had a great day full of giggles, told you she would see you tomorrow, and just like that, we were headed home.

We live all of 2 minutes (literally) from your school, but the whole ride home you were silent and didn’t even seem to be stimming. For a child usually in constant movement – this seemed off, but then again this was a new transition so perhaps it was all overwhelming and you were just super mentally and physically exhausted from everything. I can remember when Gabe and Clara were in the same grade coming home and passing out because they were so tired.

When we arrived home, you carried the Gatorade in the house and just set it on the counter, again seemed odd, but you grabbed a bowl, your favorite popcorn, and sat down predictably consuming every last kernel before settling in with your iPad to watch a movie – downtime that it would seem you needed.

After a quiet evening, we did our normal routine without any fuss, and just like that, you were off to bed.

The next morning you were again not angry or sad just quiet, but compliant and ready to go. You refused breakfast of any kind, but that wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary – all of this refusal to eat and quietness is sometimes your way of dealing with stress, and with a new schedule now in play it seemed fitting and to make sense I suppose. Insert drop off day two running smoothly again.

As I was on filling the void round two, I received a text from your teacher that you had refused to eat lunch. Kinda weird, but not alarming. She then indicated your class was sitting in the cafeteria this year not your classroom and even with headphones to control the auditory sensitivities you still just sat there, again not angry or gearing up for an auditory meltdown but just quiet. Something seemed off. I replied with my thoughts on it being overwhelming and as long as you didn’t seem sick, it was probably just you adjusting. They said you didn't feel or look warm - something was just off. When you got back to the classroom you went to your cool-down corner, a place typically used for kiddos when they need to decompress, smooshed yourself between two pillows and didn’t want to get up. They took your temp to rule out any sickness and everything checked out OK, so maybe adjusting to this new year was just really taking its toll on you? This is when having children who struggle with communication is super challenging - it's a guessing game. You eventually got up from the corner, made your way to your desk, where you sat down, and proceeded to vomit everywhere. Being close to pick up I was outside so they came to get me. You went from no fever to vomiting and a super high fever very quickly.

And just like that – this was so much more than adjusting and by all accounts not the way I thought this week was going to go.

To be continued…

Love,

Mom