So Proud
The end of the school year is really a crazy time for parents. In the last week and a half of school, Claire and Austin have a combined seven school events. All of them, of course, are during the middle of the day, which makes things really difficult for working parents. Particularly single working parents.
On the way to school on Friday, Claire asked me whether I was coming to the end-of-year party. “No,” I told her, “But I’m coming on the all-day zoo field trip the day before, so don’t worry!”
“But everyone else’s parents are coming to the party!” she whined.
Let’s be clear here – everyone else’s parents are not coming to the party. Everyone else is also being driven crazy by the insane number of events that occur in the last 7 days of school. But Claire just knows that I won’t be there and if I’m not there, then no adult is going to be there for her. I’m not saying that other parents won’t be there and won’t pay attention to my child. But Claire knows that even the most caring adults are not the same as a parent. So she wants me there, at everything.
It’s a huge burden. I want to write, “it’s a huge responsibility,” but honestly, it feels like a burden at this point. I know that it’s really not that important if a kid has two parents who show up to every school event, and that kids are resilient and will be okay even if I never come to any events. But I worry about not showing up. I worry that my kids will feel the absence of their father even stronger if I’m not there and I worry that they will be the only kid without a constant adult presence around the school. I know a number of other parents can’t make all of these school events, but their kids have the luxury of knowing that there is more than one parent cheering for them from afar.
For my kids, it’s just me.
I’m not trying to take away from the many family members and godparents and even the awesome role played by my dad to help make my kids’ lives happy ones. But it’s not the same. When my kids think about who should be attending the Family Day celebration or the End-of-Year Carnival, they think of me. Before, when I missed these events, I’d explain calmly that their dad and I couldn’t come to everything, and that was life.
Now, I worry that missing these events is somehow even more of a reminder about how they are different from their peers. Before, I liked that they had to deal with a little bit of adversity. I figured it helped toughen them up. Now I worry that they are dealing with too much, and any added adversity (even if it’s that mom is missing the end-of-year party) is something that just deepens the hurt.
So Friday, as I dropped Claire off, she frowned at me. I knew that she was unhappy about me missing many of these events.
But I also knew something she didn’t know – she was about to get a surprise award in front of the entire school.
After I dropped her off, I snuck around the side of the school and sat with a few parents of kids who were getting awards. As the kids walked in, many of them turned around. By third grade, the kids know that the only parents there are the ones whose kids are getting awards. Claire didn’t look at the parents at first. But her friend standing next to her spotted me, and I saw her whisper in my daughter’s ear.
And then, Claire turned around and got the biggest smile on her face. She jumped up and down and waved excitedly. I think she even let out a tiny squeal.
During the ceremony, she bolted up to get her award and smiled for a photo on the stage. Her face…well, it was priceless. It was the smile of a girl who had just had the best day of her life.
The best day of her life, in the worst year of her life. It was all so unreal.
I initially worried that she was just getting an award as a consolation prize. You know, “your dad died, but you get this great award!” I figured that it was just part of this year – part of everyone wanting to do something for our family.
But then I saw her face in that assembly and really started to think about it. Claire lost her dad halfway through third grade. I remember the night we came home from the emergency room visit with the terrible scan, knowing that Shawn probably had cancer. We didn’t tell the kids, because we wanted to be sure and we wanted to figure out what was the best way to tell them if it was cancer. So, we went through the normal bedtime routine. As she was getting ready for bed, Claire got really upset about a math worksheet that she hadn’t finished that day in school. She even started crying, I think, about how hard the worksheet had been and how other kids had finished before she had.
I remember standing in my bathroom, braiding her hair and listening to her go on and on about this math worksheet and praying – really praying – “Dear God, please please please let this math worksheet be the biggest problem she deals with this week. Please let my little girl just worry about third grade things for one more school year. Please make it not be cancer.”
I tucked her in bed that night, not knowing it would be one of the last normal nights she would have for months. A few days later we would tell her that Shawn had cancer, and she would be the only child of ours who cried. “But Abby has cancer!” she said, referencing a kid who had gone to her elementary school and was very sick. Then, horrified, she looked at her dad and said, “does that mean you are going to die?”
We reassured her that it was very unlikely that her dad would die. But of course, he did.
There are about a thousand more stories I can tell about what happened with Claire during the months of January and February. Some I only know pieces of because I haven’t asked for the full story from all of the many people who helped care for her and her brothers during the weeks when Shawn was in the hospital. What I do know is this – she had to maintain ultimate flexibility every single day when her dad was sick, and then she had to re-learn almost everything about her life after he died.
Here’s just one example. After Shawn died, Claire didn’t want to eat in the school cafeteria. She said that she worried that everyone would stare at her when she walked in, and so she spent lunchtime in the counselor’s office. For weeks, I tried to coax her into going at least one time, telling her that other kids probably wouldn’t even notice her presence. She wasn’t fully convinced, but said she’d think about it.
At the time, I was refusing to show up at their elementary school for the exact same reason, so I knew I was being a bit of a hypocrite.
Eventually, maybe a month after Shawn died, Claire decided to go back and try eating in the cafeteria. She was really nervous about it, but she did it, and she came home that night excited to tell me about how proud she was of herself. “I didn’t want to do it,” she told me, “I thought everyone would just look and look at me. But they just kept eating their own food! It was fine, actually.”
If that’s not “braving through it,” I don’t know what is.
The award at school was given out to a few kids, those who persevered and tried their best, or something like that. When I thought back to Claire’s third-grade year, the year when her dad was either sick or dying or gone from this earth, it made me realize something: she deserved that award. She deserved that award because she walked to school day after day and looked her classmates in the eye. She deserved that award because she still learned all of her multiplication facts and figured out how to write really well even when she slept very little the night before. She deserved that award because she asked for help when she needed it and she showed her first grade brother that it was okay to visit the school counselor and talk about being sad.
Claire didn’t get that award as a pity award. She got that award because she had the worst happen and she survived. Dammit, she thrived.
So maybe it’s time that I worry a little less about my absences at school events. Yes, my kids have dealt with more adversity this year than any child should ever face. But, inexplicably, they are managing to figure out a new normal with me and with their community. They aren’t happy when I can’t make it to everything, and they don’t like that they have to face uncomfortable situations a lot more often than they used to.
But they are doing it. Sometimes they are showing me how to do it too. And I think that’s exactly what an award like this is for.
Image Credit: Stefanie Harrington Photography.
15 Comments
Gabe
So true, Marjorie, your kids deserve SO MANY awards for living life beautifully and with astounding bravery. I’m happy Claire had this wonderful moment and you shared it with her. My friend, you also deserve huge awards for braving on, sounds like you got a sliver of one by recognizing and sharing the beauty of this moment. And, yes, the last week of school is insane! Props to you for making it to whatever you make it to!!!
Marjorie
I know – the last week of school is insane….but we’re making it. We’re all making it. Thanks for your kind words!
patrick scott
Marjorie – I just typed a long reply on Iphone and of course it didn’t post dangit. It was from my heart so i’ll try to recreate it — One year ago, I was in your back yard talking with Shawn and you; Claire was there as well. I remember Shawn, kindly offering me congratulations, on behalf of Aidan (my now 9 year old) who had just received the PT Janney award for excellence. I was certainly very proud of Aidan but, of course, I did not deserve congratulations – it’s just what we parents often do – implicitly acknowledging that maybe you’re doing something right – or not everything wrong :). In any event, Claire, was basically just listening to an adult conversation, and completely unprompted, politely got my attention – looked me in the eye and said something like – well, you know – Aidan really DID deserve the award. He works so hard and is such a nice boy. This was being said by a fairly outgoing (not shy), confident sweetheart about a boy who’s confident but fairly quiet – at least in his interactions with girls (normal for many 8/9 year old boys, I’d say). She really meant it and I even, subsequently, heard her congratulate Aidan directly. Her ebullience is a part of her nature, but, from that day on, I also knew that there was a sincerity – no jealousy whatsoever – about Claire – a confident resolve from which I was certain I’d see special and great things from her in the future. This, we have, and most assuredly will – for years to come. She’s a special one, to be certain. And, by the way, nice job by mom too!! So Marjorie, congratulations on CLAIRE getting that award!! ha
Marjorie
Oh, I love love love this – and I didn’t know this story. This is the best. I’m reading it as I sit with her getting allergy shots and am thinking that I’m so glad Shawn got to see Claire say something awesome like that. Thank you for such a sweet, sweet comment. I love it and will cherish it.
pat scott
Marjorie – I just typed a long reply on Iphone and of course it didn’t post dangit. It was from my heart so i’ll try to recreate it — One year ago, I was in your back yard talking with Shawn and you; Claire was there as well. I remember Shawn, kindly offering me congratulations, on behalf of Aidan (my now 9 year old) who had just received the PT Janney award for excellence. I was certainly very proud of Aidan but, of course, I did not deserve congratulations – it’s just what we parents often do – implicitly acknowledging that maybe you’re doing something right – or not everything wrong :). In any event, Claire, was basically just listening to an adult conversation, and completely unprompted, politely got my attention – looked me in the eye and said something like – well, you know – Aidan really DID deserve the award. He works so hard and is such a nice boy. This was being said by a fairly outgoing (not shy), confident sweetheart about a boy who’s confident but fairly quiet – at least in his interactions with girls (normal for many 8/9 year old boys, I’d say). She really meant it and I even, subsequently, heard her congratulate Aidan directly. Her ebullience is a part of her nature, but, from that day on, I also knew that there was a sincerity – no jealousy whatsoever – about Claire – a confident resolve from which I was certain I’d see special and great things from her in the future. This, we have, and most assuredly will – for years to come. She’s a special one, to be certain. And, by the way, nice job by mom too!! So Marjorie, congratulations on CLAIRE getting that award!! ha
Henry
Yes, Claire really is braving through it. I’m sure that your kids do sometimes show you how to do it, but they are following the example that you are setting. More to the point, you are all doing it together – as a family. I’m sure Shawn would be – no, let’s say: is – proud.
Henry
Yes, Claire really is braving through it. I’m sure that your kids do sometimes show you how to do it, but they are following the example that you are setting. More to the point, you are all doing it together – as a family. I’m sure Shawn would be – some would say is – proud.
Marjorie
Oh, I love this so much. Thank you so much for reading and for supporting our family. I don’t always catch you at St. C’s, but I always know the love is there for my family, which means so much.
Kathleen
You ALL deserve an award! And schools REALLY need to get into the 21st century with these events during the workday. One of my favorite rant subjects! Not fair to kids or parents. You should not feel bad. They should feel bad for putting you in this damned if you do/don’t situation. You are doing an awesome job with your own students & should feel super proud of that, not guilty. (See, I mean it about the ranting! ;))
Marjorie
I know! And thanks for the support….I feel it!
Kristin Duffy
Kids are absolutely amazing, aren’t they? I also have a 3rd grade daughter who lost her dad (my husband) 7 weeks ago. The day that he died, my parents picked her up, brought her to the hospice facility so that she could see him one more time and when she was done, she decided she was ready to go back to school and be with her friends.
I am so sorry that your family is on this journey. Thank you for writing–so much of what you write about is familiar to me and although I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, it is nice to know that aren’t alone and the things that we are going through are “normal” given the circumstances.
Marjorie
Kristin, I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your husband. You’d think that I would know the right words to say, but I still don’t. It sucks. But I’ll say this – I’m responding to comments tonight as my daughter is laying next to me in bed. I asked her, “what would you say to someone whose dad died when they were in 3rd grade?” She said, “I think it’s good for the kid to talk about their dad to everyone. And know that everyone around you – like their friends and family – all love you and are there to support you.” I loved that. And I loved that my daughter is now able to put that into words.
Kristin
Kids are absolutely amazing, aren’t they? I also have a 3rd grade daughter who lost her dad (my husband) 7 weeks ago. The day that he died, my parents picked her up, brought her to the hospice facility so that she could see him one more time and when she was done, she decided she was ready to go back to school and be with her friends.
I am so sorry that your family is on this journey. Thank you for writing–so much of what you write about is familiar to me and although I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, it is nice to know that aren’t alone and the things that we are going through are “normal” given the circumstances.
Diane
Hi Marjorie — I found you when I looked for widow blogs and I’m older than you but also lost my husband suddenly with a heart attack 2 1/2 years ago when my daughter was 15. I feel the same way about her and how she’s pushed through. High school has been a loss for her but she’s stronger for it. As I pray for her I can’t help but pray for you and your sweet kiddos too.
I lost my favorite person in the world on that awful day and nothing is the same, but we are stronger, with the Lord’s help. You too.
Blessings!!
Marjorie
This is amazing – I’m so glad we found each other. It’s impossible to imagine how I’ll get through year 2, but knowing that others have done it is a comfort. Hugs to you and your daughter.