In September you will be attending kindergarten. I can't tell you how excited and scared and anxious and overwhelmed I feel. For four years I have had you, protected you, four years of living in a shell of people who love and accept you for who you are. And I know that I've given you the best beginning of a life that I could, that I was able to.
In September that will all change. Because you have changed so much, have grown so much, have become so much more than I can ever imagine. You have become. Seth has arrived. And I love him, I love you, all of you, every laugh, every smile, every tear, every badly formed word and your attempts at singing.
But what I can't tell you, what you don't know about, is it's going to be hard. I know you, I know you will push through it all with a smile, you might get frustrated at times and lash out, but you will continue on and be strong. And I love that, I love that you have that persistence. I'm just afraid that you won't tell me about any hurt going on inside of you, that you won't tell me if someone makes fun of you, or if you aren't getting things you need. I'm afraid because I'm no longer in control.
At 18 months old you went to daycare at my college so I could finish school. It was a small class, ten kids, and I knew everyday that you were loved and taken care of. Oh how you are still loved there! They ask about you all the time! When you were 2 1/2 you went to your preschool, the one you are leaving in June, and you were/are in a class of 9 kids, with five adults. And I know that your teachers and therapists and fellow peers love you. I know you are loved there. Everyone tells me, down to the bus driver and matron that don't even have you on their route anymore.
But in September I'm afraid that not everyone might love you. Because Seth, you are going to a very different place. You will no longer be with kids like yourself, kids who learn differently. You are going to be with kids who can do things you can't, kids who might realize that you are different, kids who might be mean. Things are going to get harder, and even though I know you will try really hard and do your best, I'm afraid that your best might not be enough.
And the worst part of it all is that I know you will go into it, not knowing, not understanding and that you will never, ever look at me and say "why mommy?", "why do people not understand when I speak or sign", "why are they mean?", "why can't I learn this?", "why is this so hard?" . . . . but know that I have all those questions for you, that I'm asking them for you. You might never have any of these fears, and if you do, I don't know about them. And you'll never read this, but this is one conversation that I'll never have with you. . . . and I really need to.
I could tell you it's all going to be okay . . . and I'm sure one day it will be. But this journey is going to be hard and you are going to change throughout it. I just want you to carry the love of the first four years with you when times get tough. I want you to remember that there are so many people who love you, who are inspired by you, who wish the absolute best for you.
And when you come home from that first day of school in September I'll ask you how your day was. And you may never, ever answer that question, you don't do it now when I ask, but I'll always ask, ALWAYS, so you know that I care, that I think about you all day when you are gone, that I worry and wonder and wait for you.
So Seth, life is going to change, but my love for you never will.