Back to School

Here we go. The back to school ads are everywhere. School supplies, clothes, uniforms. Parents celebrating that the summer is over, the kids are finally getting out of the house. The parents lamenting that their kids are growing so fast. They wish time would slow down. They don’t want their children to grow up. Be careful what you wish for. My child never got the chance to grow up.

The first day of school posts have been here for weeks now. I try to avoid the posts. I don’t do much on Facebook. I post updates of course about Ari’s Bears, maybe share some articles, but mostly stay on social media to keep up with the children I follow. The other posts hurt too damn much. In all honesty, even the posts about the children with cancer hurt because they are still alive. They have hope. In many cases the posts are about celebrating remission, end of treatment, ringing the bell. And many of those kids are starting school and engaging in typical childhood activities. But I worry about them. I want those kids to be cured. I want them to survive. I know them, I know their families and it is important to me to know how they are doing.

So of course I inevitably start scrolling through my feed. Usually at the top of my feed are the bereavement groups I’m in and pages I follow. But then the regular posts come. They are in my face showing me everything I am missing. The happy, intact families on vacation. The children at a dance competition. The parents attending various events for their children. The parents upset because their kids are growing too fast. The parents missing their kids who are at camp. Parents crying about their empty nest now that kids are heading to college. Each post another punch in the gut, a knife through my heart, a slap in the face. I quickly shut it down, tears streaming down my cheeks, wanting to throw up. And now the first day of school pictures. I will never have another first day of school picture of Ariella. I will never again see her standing in front of our house with her book bag on her shoulders, smiling so big because she loved school. I will never again have someone to help with homework and projects. I did not enjoy helping with projects. There was lots of yelling and complaining. Papers slammed down, pencils thrown. But I would give anything to have another project, another math sheet, another book report.

I never again get to share in the anticipation of the first day of school. Hearing about the classmates and teachers. Which friends are in the same class. Which electives will be selected. I never get to have another first day of school picture. No more comparing how much Ariella grew from the previous year. No more pictures at all. So I will share all the first day of school pictures I was blessed to have. I had to dig deep to find some of them because I did not always post them on Facebook and I don’t keep all my pictures on my phone (I have them all printed). I figured it wasn’t anything special. Every child has a first day of school, why do we need to share all the pictures? Little did I know. It never occurred to me that we would not get to have first day of school pictures through 12th grade. It never occurred to me that Ariella’s life would be cut short, that her school memories album would end in the the middle of 6th grade. I never imagined that I would be so desperate to find her first day of school pictures because they are all I have now.

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The pictures should not end there. We should get six more first day of school pictures. We should get a going off to college picture. This should not be it. How? How did this happen? Why did this happen? How could this beautiful life be cut so short? She had so much more to do, so much more to give. Look at that face. Pure joy and excitement. And that was a chemo week for her. Chemo wasn’t going to keep her from school. How can anyone look at this child and think this would be her last first day of school? That in less than 10 months, this child, this beautiful child with so much hope and potential would be dead? I still can’t fathom it. That this beautiful, dancing flame was extinguished. That this brilliant spark of light no longer shines. She was supposed to survive.

Today should be Ariella’s first day of 7th grade. But instead we have empty steps in front of the house, an unused book bag hanging by the door, unfulfilled dreams, milestones that will never be reached. This last picture was a new beginning for Ariella. A new school. Middle school. A private school where most of the kids had known each other for years. But that didn’t daunt Ariella. She jumped right in and made new friends almost immediately. A wonderful, supportive group of friends. To them she wasn’t the kid with cancer. She was just weird, loud, goofy, and outgoing Ariella. She very quickly planned get togethers and sleep overs. Her entry into this new school was seamless. The world was hers for the taking. She had so much promise. How did everything go so fucking wrong?