The First Of Many Transitions

I’ve mentioned before that I moved to Cleveland from New Jersey when I was 10 years old—fifth grade. Looking back, I didn’t think anything of it. My parents told me we were moving for a better life and a wonderful job for my father and I didn’t think twice. Yes, I remember being sad to leave my friends, home and the life (and region of the country) I knew, but I trusted my parents and understood they were only doing what was best for us. Over the years when my parents and grandparents tell the story of the day we moved, my mother and father remind us it was one of the hardest days for them. I never understood why until now.

As insensitive as I was to those moms who cried when their children went off to school for the first, or 50^th time, I was ten times as oblivious to the emotions a parent feels when they have to “uproot” their child from their familiar surroundings. A short two months ago, For those two months the experience was everything I hoped it would be. The directors were nurturing, the teachers patient and warm, and my child loved every minute of it. Then, without warning, the school’s ownership turned my world upside down, which resulted in a very unstable and unhealthy environment. Therefore, I had to immediately pull Ryan from the school he became giddy about going to everyday. Needless to say, I was devastated and unbelievably inconsolable.

It was hard enough for me to cut the cord and send him off to school for the first time and the transition was thankfully so easy. I now can’t believe I have to do it again! My mind is filled with another set of likely ridiculous worries—that he won’t understand why he can no longer go to “his school,” why he will not see his beloved twin girlfriends everyday, why Miss Dottie won’t be the one sitting at the front desk when he arrives every morning, why Miss Allie won’t be his teacher, and the list goes on and on. My wonderful friends and family remind me that this is just a blip on his radar and assure me he won’t be affected, or traumatized.

So, last week, when I found myself scouring our community for Plan B, I immediately called my dad (sobbing) and asked, “How did you move us from New Jersey to Cleveland? I can’t even handle switching daycares on my 2 ½ year old!” Side note: he, as well as my husband, was horrified by my emotional breakdown.

I was able to pull myself together enough to tour two amazing facilities that I am so fortunate both had openings. Over the weekend, we made our choice and Ryan will once again be back in school—with new friends, new teachers, and a great new chapter of his life. Let’s hope for his mother’s sake this chapter will last longer than the last.