As the back-to-school frenzy kicks in, it’s easy to get swept away in the excitement. I totally get it—I’ve been there.
When my son, Leo, was set to start kindergarten, I was a whirlwind of activity, even while juggling a part-time gig at a non-profit and managing my two active boys. I spent countless hours hunting for the perfect backpack for Leo’s debut in the world of education. I hit all the popular stores, explored specialty shops, and even searched sporting goods and toy stores. When those options didn’t meet my lofty expectations, I turned to the Internet—Lands’ End, L.L.Bean, Amazon—you name it. Ultimately, I settled on a cute, junior-sized, monogrammed, Caribbean blue backpack that looked simply adorable on Leo.
The same quest ensued for the lunch box and thermos to fit inside. And don’t even get me started on the school supply list—it was a beast that required visits to five different office supply stores. I was determined that Leo would have every item in the correct quantity, brand, and color, which I believed was crucial for his kindergarten success.
I also picked out what I thought was the ultimate first-day outfit for him and even suggested laying out his entire wardrobe for the week in our newly purchased closet organizer. Yes, I went ahead and splurged on a pair of Skechers sneakers, despite the fact he’d probably outgrow them within a month. And, of course, we had to make a trip for a haircut.
It was a lot of work, and quite stressful, but hey, my little guy was ready for school!
Fast forward three years, and my younger son, Max, was about to embark on his kindergarten journey. By then, I had relaxed significantly. If I couldn’t find the exact 20-count Crayola box after a couple of stores, I figured it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I sent him with the 24-count. When Max insisted he didn’t want a haircut, I let it slide. To balance my “slacker mom” status, I signed up to volunteer in the classroom and chaperone field trips. Plus, I was still the team parent for both boys’ soccer teams while hunting for a new job and training for a half-marathon during my “spare time.”
Looking back, I chuckle at my earlier obsession with that perfect backpack. Why I thought it would make me a supermom is beyond me, especially since my life took a dramatic turn shortly after Max started school.
Just two weeks in, I, a non-smoker who had always been fit, received a diagnosis of a rare form of lung cancer. My mother had succumbed to lung cancer before I gave birth to Max, and the fear of not being there for my boys loomed large. Thankfully, doctors believed the cancer was localized, leading to a recommended surgery. My prognosis looked promising, and I underwent major surgery that fall, resulting in half of my left lung being removed.
I didn’t see my boys for the entire eight days I spent in the hospital, as kids weren’t allowed in the critical care unit. I didn’t want them to see me connected to tubes and IVs. For the first time, due to intense pain post-surgery, I didn’t want them to hug me. It was the longest I had been away from them. I missed Joshua’s third-grade fall concert, the first major school event I had ever skipped, and that was tough for me.
The months following were filled with physical pain and bouts of depression. Halloween arrived, but I couldn’t muster the energy to go trick-or-treating. I was also prohibited from driving due to heavy pain meds, causing me to miss countless moments. Yet, my incredible husband stepped up and managed everything while I slowly recovered, taking months before I adjusted to my new normal.
Last fall, as the new school year began, I couldn’t recall doing any of the typical back-to-school preparations. The year passed by without incident, and now, two years post-diagnosis, it’s time for another back-to-school season, which carries a much different meaning for me.
This year, I genuinely don’t care what my boys wear on their first day. I’m indifferent about which character adorns Max’s thermos or the color of Leo’s lunch box. Even the school supply list can take a back seat—I might just send in those unsharpened pencils anyway. Honestly, I believe the world will keep spinning with or without perfectly sharpened pencils.
So, I take a deep breath, and I simply hope. What matters now is hope.
I hope for all the usual things—new friends, good grades, no bullying, and that my boys tackle their homework without constant reminders from me. But most importantly, I hope to be here next year when they head back to school again, sending them off with their new, albeit generic-brand shoes and backpacks filled with slightly crumpled, gooey-crumb-lined, unsharpened pencils.
This essay was previously shared in Chicken Soup for the Soul and on Survivor’s Review.
Summary:
Mia reflects on her journey as a mother, from the early days of obsessing over the perfect backpack for her son Leo’s kindergarten debut to a life-altering cancer diagnosis. As she navigates the challenges of motherhood, she learns that hope, rather than perfection, is what truly matters when sending her boys back to school.