I just dropped them off at school and am crying my eyes out. I've got no one here to even cry with. I left my babies at a school where they know no one. Just left them there. I took Diva to her line and tried to engage her in conversation with the one girl, asking her where she should put her backpack, gave her a kiss and watched her as she stuck herself to the wall in this dreadful heat, beads of sweat along her lip. She whispered to me that her backpack was filled and no one else's was. Everyone else was doing hand-clap games and parents were taking back-to-school pictures, reminiscing about the summer, and we had no one. I walked home as fast as I could, sweating my ass off, already in need of another shower, because of this god-forsaken heat, crying my eyes out.
I know what they're feeling in their minds, and in their hearts. They want normal. They want what they had. They want to not be scared. They want to be back in their old comfort zone. Of heading down Bobby Jones to the old bus stop, to their old friends, to MY old friends, where we knew everyone, where nothing was scary and things were familiar and there was no tension and uncertainty and things were calm, and your heart didn't have to beat extra hard with fear and not from excitement on your first day of school and when you walk into school, you know not a single soul, and you don't even know where you're supposed to put your things, or where the lunchroom is or what you need to do if you have to go to the bathroom, or where the freaking bathroom is even. Or how you're supposed to find your mom when school is out for the day even.
I just want it to be better. For them. For me. I want it to be less hard.
And oh my God, I just took a freaking shower at 7 a.m. and I seriously need another one because of the sweat dripping from me just from the short walk to their school.
And there's a dead headless bunny in our front yard.