For the first time since September, T has been telling us he doesn't want to go to school. When I ask him why, he says things like "beacuse I'll miss you too much, mommy", or "I just want to be with you." Nothing especially alarming, but a total 180 from the boy who couldn't wait to go back to see his friends. I should have seen it coming...
Last week he had a mini-anxiety attack over going on a play date when he realized I wasn't going to stay. Throughout the week, he's said things like "Will you stay with me forever?" I thought maybe his dad's work schedule, which often takes him out of the house on the weekends or causes him to miss family dinners, was the reason behind the anxiety. After talking to other moms of kids in T's class, it looks like its just a phase for this age, but I feel like it might be harder on me than him.
I know that at 3 1/2 he can't possibly imagine what it would be like without me, but sometimes I wonder if he's taking on my anxieties, the ones I try so hard to keep under wraps. I don't want my fears to define me as a parent, and most of all, I do not want my children to know how much I worry about them. I don't want to cross the line between normal fear and unhealthy fear, and sometimes I feel like it could happen so easily.
When T randomly asks me if I'll stay with him forever, my heart breaks a little as I tell him that I'll never leave him. I know this is a lie, though hopefully he'll be way past this phase when it happens. I know that everyone has to say goodbye to the ones they love. I know this is a lesson everyone learns one day. But when I watch T's face crumble, his lip tremble and his arms go out for a hug that promises him one last minute with me before I leave him at school, I understand to my core what it's like to know you will never see the person you love most in the world again. That's why, despite some advice I've gotten, I have no problem humoring him with just one more squeeze. Because for almost 5 years I worried that every time I gave my mom a hug goodbye, or hung up with her on the phone, it might be the last. I wanted those hugs and conversations to go on forever. And I knew when it was the last time I could tell her I loved her, though I told her even after I knew she couldn't hear me; I dreaded that day more than I thought I could. And I knew when it was the last time she would manage to say those words back to me, when she could barely talk, but she managed to say it one last time so clearly. My heart still breaks when I think about that, and I never, never wish that knowledge on my children.
So, I have to help T get through this normal phase of development, without holding on to those anxieties, without projecting my fears back onto him, without making a big deal out of just one more hug, while I get through it myself. Beacause we'll have many more years to hug each other and the ones who are most important to us.
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