The End of an Era

I went through the motions today, trying to make the last Saturday before Jeremy starts kindergarten a special one. I wanted to take Jeremy to a hair salon that caters to children, and get his hair trimmed before school starts, then I thought that the four of us could take in a popular festival around these parts. It's held on the banks of the Ohio river, and I've heard it praised for months. The plan was to put Brooklyn down for a morning nap, and then strike out for the day.

As the morning wore on, however, I found myself thinking about the coming months, and all the things that are about to change. Jeremy starting kindergarten on Wednesday should be a joyful event. I know many other mothers that have looked forward to that glorious day with great glee. It should be a happy occasion in my life, too. Instead, it is the first thing in a very long list of things to change for the rest of our lives. After Jeremy gets acclimated to the first couple of weeks to school, Brooklyn and I have a whirlwind trip to Utah planned. As soon as we get back, I have one week to get Kadon acclimated to attending pre-school two days a week, and then the fall semester starts for me. I luckily won't have to spend a great deal of time on campus this quarter, probably only 5-7 hours a week, but I know that with my Internet courses, along with Jeremy and Kadon going to school, then Brooklyn thrown in on top--time is about to enter a phase where it whips by with a pace that will leave us all breathless. As soon as fall quarter is over, we will all have a brief period to rest--and then all three children will begin to attend regular daycare with the start of my spring quarter. This pattern will continue--probably until each of them reaches an age where they no longer require constant care.

All these emotions--all these changes--each of them wrapped up in one weekend. It's a lot to take in, and when faced with the challenge of making it special--I completely buckled. I hate that my grief, my fear, and my anxiety makes me short with my kids. My emotions destroy the very thing that I'm anxious to preserve--and that knowledge makes the whole thing more painful. I'm not feeling angry today. I'm not even missing Ammon, at least not past the usual dull ache that resides in my chest. Today, I just feel a deep, wrenching sadness for the loss of our lives as we've known them. It makes me ache in the pit of my stomach that this chapter--the chapter where I get to stay home and raise my children--is rapidly coming to a permanent close. All the things that this weekend symbolizes are tearing me up inside. The constant ache of missing Ammon, and the changes that ripple beyond my control.

I want my quiet, placid, perfect life back. I fear that it is gone forever, and I'm left with this unrecognizable existence as a poor substitute.