My Last "First Day of School"

When my oldest daughter started kindergarten, I was the typical young mother standing at the end of the laneway waiting for the bus to arrive, camera in hand, son hanging off the other hand (to keep him from chasing the cars on the highway), baby daughter on hip. Jessica stood proudly with her bright white running shoes, brand new clothes, Barbie backpack and matching lunchbox. Grade 8 graduation seemed a lifetime away; grade 12 even longer.

This past Monday night, the night before school started, she was gathering all of her school stuff...trendy bag, funky coloured binders, fashion smart first day of school outfit. It was no different from any other September night before school begins...until she said it. One sentence out of her mouth, and it hit me so unexpectedly, like a burst of adrenaline in the midst of the calm of my mind.

"Hey mom, tomorrow is going to be my last first day of school!"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, I could tell by the look on her face that she was regretting having said it out loud. My face must have been an obvious mirror into the workings of my mind.

"Mom, don't start crying!" (heavy emphasis on the word "don't")

Too late, the floodgates had opened. It wasn't a tidal wave of instantaneous tears. I was trying to stay composed. But, until that very moment, I hadn't even thought about the significance of the next day for her. This was her last year of high school. This was her last year at home. How could I, the mother who was sentimental about my daughter leaving the cottage one day earlier than the rest of us, have forgotten the "last first day of school"?

Now that the thought had been made public by her innocent statement, I couldn't stop the onslaught of memories, combined with the musings about her future. What would it be like next year when she was at university, walking out the door on her first day of classes in a strange city, with room mates instead of family, with the exuberant optimism and "I can take on the world" attitude of youth? Part of me wanted to be excited with her. She is ready. I know she is. This is what the past 17 years of training have all been for. But, part of me also wanted to remind myself to take in the moments of this last year at home, take nothing for granted. If thirteen years of school can go by in the blink of an eye, then the next 365 days are soon to be a cloud of dust behind us.

It seemed quite coincidental, or maybe fateful, that it was this past weekend that I chose to read the book "The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch. It has been gathering dust on my end table for over a year now, and for some unexplained reason, it was this weekend that it was finally opened, and then read cover to cover. A brief synopsis of the book appears inside the front cover:

"When Randy Pausch, a computer science professor at Carnegie Mellon, was asked to give such a lecture, he didn't have to imagine it as his last, since he had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. But the lecture he gave- "Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams"- wasn't about dying. It was about the importance of overcoming obstacles, of enabling the dreams of others, of seizing every moment (because "time is all you have...and you may find one day that you have less than you think")."

There were so many life lessons throughout this book, so many ideas and thoughts that could apply to every single person, that could make each one of us think more carefully about the life that we really want to lead. It made me not want to waste a second. It made me want to hold each person who means anything to me and tell them every day how lucky I am to have them in my life. You see, this book wasn't about an old grey-haired professor who had lived a full life. This was about a 47 year old man with a beautiful wife, and three young children. This was about a man who was more afraid of his kids growing up without a father than worrying about what he would miss. "I'm focused more on what they're going to lose than on what I'm going to lose."

Throughout my mental anguish of my daughter's last first day of school, I was pulling quotes and ideas from this book into the forefront of my mind. How lucky am I to even be here with her today! I should be rejoicing... and I am. I want Jessica to fulfill her dreams, whatever they happen to be. I want her to know that her dreams are important, that they are achievable. I read a passage of the book to her on the night of that first day of school. After one day at school her mind was already filling with selecting universities, choosing a course path, worries and anxieties. I know it's part of the process for her, and I know that the decision ultimately has to be hers. I couldn't find the right words, so I pulled out the book, opened it up to one of the many pages that I had folded over for future reference.

"Because I've been so vocal about the power of childhood dreams, some people have been asking lately about the dreams I have for my own children.
...As I see it, a parent's job is to encourage kids to develop a joy for life and a great urge to follow their own dreams. The best we can do is to help them develop a personal set of tools for the task.
So my dreams for my kids are very exact. I want them to find their own path to fulfillment. And given that I won't be there, I want to make this clear: Kids, don't try to figure out what I wanted you to become. I want you to become what you want to become."

I plan on being there!