Five out of seven mornings a week, I experience a dull pain in my chest.
I’m ok while getting dressed, putting on a little makeup and combing my hair (or hiding it under a hat). Still no pain during the time I wake my daughter up, or while helping her get dressed and guiding her on her way downstairs to take her seat at the kitchen counter.
I take my first sips of my Chai tea while I serve my daughter breakfast, often multitasking by putting dishes away and/or making her lunch while listening to her sweet ramblings.
Watching the way she slowly savors her food and listening to her light small talk is far sweeter than the last sips of my tea where the honey sunk and lingered. Then the pain starts to creep in. After she eats, she goes into the washroom to wash her hands before it’s time to leave for school. As the door closes, I feel like it was just yesterday that she stayed home with me all day, although it’s been years.
The mornings where we walk to school are better than the ones when we have to drive, since I buy a little more time of sweet momma/daughter experiences. The pain accelerates as we get closer to the school. I smile and say hello to everyone as we near the school door, but what I really want to do is ask the other parents is “Does this part of your day hurt as much for you as it does for me?!”
While I watch my little girl happily walk into the doors of her wonderful little school, I know she is exactly where she needs to be, but I feel like a little piece of my heart gets stabbed as I let go. There are still mornings where I cry, usually when I have the safety of the car to enclose myself, sometimes under the guise of sunglasses if they are days I have to walk home alone.
I thought over the years, the pain would dissipate, and some mornings I think it has. But then I realize I am just more used to it.
I watch the clock for when it’s pick up time 🙂