The return-to-school season can be overwhelming, a sentiment I can certainly relate to. As the month approached when my youngest son, Daniel, was set to begin kindergarten, I found myself swept up in the preparations. While juggling a part-time position at a local charity, transporting my two boys to their various activities, and maintaining our busy household, I dedicated countless hours searching for the ideal backpack for Daniel’s big debut in the academic world.
My journey began at all the major stores in town, as well as specialty shops and sporting goods retailers. I even explored toy stores and luggage outlets. When these attempts failed to yield the perfect backpack that matched my vague vision, I turned to online options—Lands’ End, L.L.Bean, Amazon. Ultimately, I settled on a junior-sized, monogrammed, Caribbean blue, lightweight backpack that looked delightful on Daniel.
I followed the same meticulous process for selecting his lunch box and the thermos that would fit inside it. The quest for school supplies was even more arduous, requiring visits to five different office supply stores. I was adamant that Daniel would have the exact quantities, brands, and colors specified on the school supply list, which I believed were crucial for his educational success at just five years old.
I even picked out the perfect outfit for his first day and suggested we organize his entire week’s wardrobe in the new closet organizer I had purchased, which featured compartments labeled Monday through Friday. After some deliberation, I splurged on a pair of trendy sneakers, despite the $45 price tag and the likelihood he would outgrow them in a month. Lastly, I took him for a haircut.
It was an exhausting endeavor, but I felt accomplished as the first day of school approached. Fast forward three years, and my younger son, Leo, was getting ready for kindergarten. By this time, I had adopted a more relaxed attitude towards back-to-school preparations. I realized that if I couldn’t find the designated 20-count Crayola box after a couple of stores, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I sent him with the 24-count version. When Leo expressed that he didn’t want a haircut, I let it slide. To compensate for my laid-back approach, I volunteered to help in the classroom and chaperone field trips, all while managing my role as the team parent for both boys’ soccer teams.
Reflecting on those earlier days, I’m puzzled as to why I believed that acquiring the perfect backpack would elevate me to “supermom” status. This mindset was prevalent before my life took a drastic turn.
About two weeks after Leo started kindergarten, I—a non-smoker and previously considered healthy individual—was diagnosed with a rare type of lung cancer. My mother had succumbed to lung cancer before Leo’s birth, heightening my fears when I received my diagnosis. I worried about not being there to send my boys back to school in the years to come.
Fortunately, doctors believed the cancer was localized to my lung, which was a positive sign and led to a recommendation for surgery. My prognosis was encouraging, so that fall, I underwent a major surgery that resulted in the removal of half of my left lung.
During my eight-day hospital stay, I was unable to see my boys, as children were not permitted in the critical care unit. I didn’t want them to witness me hooked up to chest tubes and IVs, nor did I want them to hug me due to the intense post-surgical pain. This was the longest I had been away from them, and I missed Joshua’s third-grade fall concert, which was particularly difficult for me.
The months following my surgery were marked by significant physical pain and depression. I missed Halloween festivities and couldn’t drive for two months due to heavy pain medications, which resulted in me missing many important moments with my boys. Thankfully, my supportive husband stepped up to manage everything at home, and I eventually began my recovery, though it took many months and most of the school year before I adjusted to my new normal.
Last fall, we found ourselves at the start of another school year. I noticed that my usual back-to-school preparations had become a blur. The school year passed relatively uneventfully, and now, two years after my diagnosis, it’s that time again.
This year, I find that I genuinely don’t care about my boys’ outfits for their first day. I’m indifferent about the design on Leo’s thermos or the color of Joshua’s lunch box. I even plan to send unsharpened pencils to school, defying the school supply list. I’ve come to understand that these details hold little significance in the grand scheme of things.
Taking a deep breath, I embrace a sense of hope. My priorities have shifted—what truly matters is the hope for my children. I wish for them to forge new friendships, achieve academic success, and navigate school without incident. Most importantly, I hope to be present for them next year as they head back to school once more, equipping them with generic shoes and unsharpened pencils nestled within their perfectly imperfect backpacks.
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Summary:
The author reflects on the emotional journey of preparing her children for kindergarten, from the overwhelming details of shopping for supplies to the profound shift in perspective after a cancer diagnosis. This year, she embraces a more relaxed approach, focusing on hope for her children’s futures rather than the small details.