September is approaching and I desperately want to avoid it. Searching for uniforms small enough to fit brings a lump in my throat.
Every time I think of September, I feel sick.
I imagine kissing you goodbye at our front door, the safety of our home. Watching strangers drive away with you, strangers I have to trust and who are responsible for your safety. I feel that lump in my throat returning. I push the overwhelming feelings to one side as we cuddle, You are so vulnerable. I just want to protect you from the world.
Every day, every event is carefully moulded around your needs. I know exactly which replies you need. I know not to approach you without first warning you of my actions. I know not to make to much loud noises yet equally not to be too quiet. I have dedicated the last four years to learning who you are, to making you as happy as I can. I control what I can to make your life easier.
Giving up some of that control is unfathomable to me. How can I let someone who does not love you, someone who has not spent the last four years learning to understand you – how do I let them take responsibility for something so precious and fragile?
When you was born, I longed to see you grow. When you would not feed, when you screamed for hours on end and seemed in agony, I longed for the time when you would eat solid food, when you would be able to tell me what was wrong.
I ached for that time to pass quickly because it was so hard and you needed me so much. Then, I blinked and now there are just a few breaths until you are five. We missed out on so much – first steps, and first words, and dancing and laughter and tiny fingers grasping mine, getting bigger every day. Yet here we are getting ready for school.
Familiar feelings begin to return as I watch you nap. The exploding heat that erupts insides me, I look down at my hands trembling. I’m panicking, I can feel my heart beating faster “it’s just new, everything will be ok” I have to reign back this feeling, feeling of loosing control. It’s difficult but I do it.
It is only school. I know I should be thankful, and I am, I’m thankful we’ve secured a place at school that caters for Olivia’s needs more than I could possibly say yet it doesn’t feel right. Soon, it will be normal. By October, it will not feel so awful. Life will go on and we will all be fine, we will get through.
But right now, all I can think is It feels like I am losing something that I can never get back.
I blink. You grow. I blink. You grow.