This series of two entries about kindergarten was written a bit schizophrenically. I first started writing the intro bit in my other post tonight, but I added a bunch of filler because I was trying to write myself out of thinking, processing, and reacting. And then I decided the filler fluff--i.e., this post here--wasn't really necessary...but since I'd already written it, didn't want to delete/waste what I'd already done, and I do like having fluff posts as a mere historical record, I split it into two posts. So here you go. Two posts.
You know, if you cared how my mind was working tonight...(or not)....
(And otherwise forgoing an intro from when I cut and pasted this into its own post....You want an intro? Go read the other post first.)
Anna is very excited about starting school and was giddily hyper at bedtime two hours ago (a home-cooked dinner + bathtime + bedtime + story routine that successfully happened on schedule and ended on time, with me leaving her room at 8:10 pm...I'm still stunned [and stopping to pinch myself]). She protested the first outfit I'd picked for her to wear--But I want to wear my new school clothes what we bought, Mom, she lamented initially--and her selection is now laid out on her dresser, with all tags cut off. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that her excitement will translate to getting ready in the morning faster than her usual pokey-slow morning pace and without the constant nagging and reminders from Mommy to hurry up, like we did all last year during preschool. And mercifully, a friend inadvertently reminded me via Facebook to set up and program my coffee pot tonight. (Thank you, C! =))
Overall, we're ready.
Anna and I attended Back to School Night a week ago, where she met her teacher and got to explore her classroom. And unlike the preschool orientation and first day last year, seeing the swarms of families wandering around the school didn't bother me in the slightest. I even noted the absence of any grief reaction as I was sitting there next to Anna on the bleachers as she ate some grapes and drank a cup of water. I gave a silent cheer for progress.
But when I'd had to fill in the registration forms before Kindergarten Roundup in May, I'd wondered how on earth I was supposed to fill in Anna's forms.
CHILD LIVES WITH MOTHER was easy enough, as well as who the FIRST PARENT/RESPONSIBLE GUARDIAN was. But filling in her father's name? His signature? What difference did it make what his name is when he can't sign anything, can't be contacted in an emergency, and has no legal rights because he's been dead for five years?
I didn't feel like calling the school to see how to handle it, so I fudged it best I could.
But even though I'd done my widowed-due-diligence duty on the forms, I wasn't sure if that was enough. Two years ago, during Anna's second year of preschool, the teacher was never told about the dead-parent bomb that I'd noted in the registration forms. Whoops. Talk about a slight disconnect...and a bit of an uncomfortable surprise for the teacher when Anna popped up with the information in class.
So I couldn't simply assume that the office would tell Anna's teacher or that she'd magically find out somehow. But I also didn't know if it really made much of a difference. At five years out--and especially because she doesn't remember him, nor grieve him in any traditional sense--how much of a role does Anna's father even need to play in her school life?
Heeding the advice of the other parents in my support group, though--one of them an elementary school teacher--and the grief counselor who runs the group, I made a point to give Anna's teacher a heads-up about the D-E-A-D D-A-D-D-Y. It wasn't exactly the most opportune time to do it at Back to School Night, with the deafening chaos in the room and all of 45 seconds (okay, maybe two minutes) with her teacher, but I wanted to get it over and done with. And now at least she knows.
Good thing I did too, because I noticed that the Father fields were conspicuously empty on the office-generated registration form that I had to verify and sign at Back to School Night. No mention anywhere that her father is dead. I wonder now if it still would have been blank, even if I'd filled in Charley's name on the form in May.
But none of this is what first came out of my fingers as I sat down to write. I've been trying to write around my feelings, to avoid having to pin them down. Edit and post some photos; include some trivial anecdotes...I'm good at avoiding and distracting myself, at writing about something easy as filler. So if you want to read what I was actually feeling, read the other post here....
I have been told by the counselors and other widows that the grief for children whose parent died when the child was real young doesn't hit in full until the child reaches 9 or 10. This is because it is at this age that they can finally comprehend the loss of that parent in its entirety, even if they do not "remember" their parent. As a former teacher of fifth graders, this makes total sense. Expect that your daughter will tell every teacher she has for many years to come. I know of several children who have to stand up and tell the whole class about their late Daddy, not because they had to, but because they needed to. I just hope seven years is enough time for me to process the death of my husband in order to help my soon-to-be three year old and my eleven month old through their grief. I wish that for you, too.
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