The room at the top of the stair

The milestones of childhood sneak up on you while you're watching them.

You have all the warning in the world - and it does you no good.

For weeks now, mom's been sending packages to the boy with school supplies - pencils, glue sticks, new clothes, a backpack. You figure I'd get get a clue there. I've been to the boy's school, met the teacher, took him to his new locker.

I can tell the boy is fretting over it. He grinds his teeth at night. He's been coming into our bed at night with some regularity. For him it's a huge change. Losing all his buddies from day care - losing his awesome teacher and having to start over.

I've never understood the whole kindergarten angst for parents, though. My mother has told me stories from her elementary school that seemed positively surreal.

The one I remember the most was about a mother of twins.

First off, she was incredibly tall. Taller, even than my mother which takes some doing. She was easily 6'4" and dressed in full corporate battle gear: power suit and all the accessories. She was dropping off her two boys for their first day of kindergarten.

After her boys had gone off down the hall, this imposing, seasoned professional lay prostrate in the middle of the hallway and sobbed her eyes out. Aware of the spectacle she was making, she crawled into my mom's office to recover.

It took awhile, my mom said. A long while.

I've never understood that. Her children were coming back to her in a few hours. All these books that purport to prepare your kids for going to kindergarten make some reference to crying parents. It makes no sense to me.

The kids are safe - they're coming back. I mean, sure - it's a change, but it's not like boarding school.

So, this morning we take the boy over to his new school. The whole family, because it's a big deal. We take pictures - and the boy is nonplussed by the whole thing. He wants us to carry his backpack. He's wondering when the bell will ring so he can line up to go inside. Total anti-climax.

I've been wondering if he'll freak out a bit when we start to go, but E's staying with him a bit. I'm leaving early because little e has to get to day care. I've got a meeting I need to get to. He gives me a bit of a wave and disappears into the throng of other kids and parents.

And then I literally go to pieces. Little e's tugging at my hand and we're headed to the car. I'm wishing I had a hat with a brim - I have to walk past a line of late arrivals and their parents. One of the neighborhood kids is here - Jesus, what if they see me? I'm a grown up for cryin' out loud.

The masochist centers in my brain dredge up the verses to a McCutcheon song that ruins any hope of regaining composure.
I always say since dad died, I'm all out of stoicism. I'm not sure if that's the excuse here - but I'm unable to stop or make sense of what is going on.

I'll see him this afternoon.

I get little e to the car and she's too delightful to notice that her dad's a wreck.

This makes no sense.

So I drive her to day care, searing myself with thoughts of work and my meeting. I'm good until I get to day care and drop off little e without her brother. The boy's teacher is there and I'm edging towards becoming spectacle. Little e runs off and behind me I hear some of the new parents coming.

I am not one of those people. You have no right to see me like this.

So I opt for the half door next to the classroom. It's never open and we're not supposed to use it, but its the quickest way out. I get through here, I can be gone before the new parents come down this way.

And the door's sticks - and I can't get it to close behind me. And there they are, the new parents - right in front of me.

And I'm a spectacle. Little e's teacher is great - she knows the score and gives me a hug. This only encourages my problem and I dash up the stairs, willfully ignoring the other parents.

Alone in the car, I still can't make it all make sense. The boy is fine. I should be fine. I'm not sure what the root of my problem is.

I can't stop it - which is infuriating. I'm ten minutes from work. I'll be in a meeting five minutes after I get there.

But that part that needs to keep suffering just won't give up.

Now I sit on the bed
As the memories rain down
There’s a hole in my heart
Where you’ll always be there

I still don't understand.

Make it stop.