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To My Dear Little One: A Letter for the Day You Say Goodbye to Mommy
“Mommy, can you come with me? Please don’t go!”
I slipped your tiny shoes on, and you reached for my hand with all your might. As we fastened your cheerful blue backpack over your shoulders, I offered a smile, though my heart felt heavy. In the preschool parking lot, I could see the tears welling in your eyes. Your little feet shuffled toward your classroom, and you clutched my finger tightly, your lips turning down in a frown.
If this is a positive step, why does it feel so difficult?
On your very first day of preschool, you extended your arms and called my name, big tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. I planted a kiss on your forehead and reluctantly turned to head back to my car, leaving you amidst your cries. It broke me inside. I wish you were old enough to grasp the reasons behind this, but at just two years old, you simply can’t.
By now, you’re likely playing with your friends, and I suspect the tears have dried up. Meanwhile, I’m still sitting in the car, grappling with my emotions and writing you this letter. I want you to understand all of this when you’re older—especially the significance of preschool drop-off.
My beloved child,
By the time you read this, those early preschool days will feel like a faint memory, if you even recall them at all. You won’t remember the tears or the soothing presence of your teacher as I hurried back to my car (fearing I might lose my nerve and take you back with me). You won’t recall the worry that filled my heart or the redness of your cheeks. You may not remember, but I promise you, I will.
You won’t know how much time and thought Daddy and I spent searching for the right school—a place that would nurture you, keep you safe, and help you flourish. It took us six long months to muster the courage to enroll you. After touring twelve different schools, we finally chose that quaint little temple with its vibrant artwork. We wanted you to feel secure with these kind teachers, to make friends and explore without me hovering nearby. You won’t remember our sleepless nights filled with doubt, but your parents will.
You won’t know the guilt I felt while tidying up at home for the third time. How I had everything in order by 10 a.m., yet I was sure your faith in me was crumbling. While you wondered where Mommy had gone, I was on the phone with Ms. Kelly, eager for updates on how you played with that brown plastic donut and giggled as bubbles floated during circle time. These details might escape you as you grow, but dear child, I will always remember.
Perhaps you’ll be seven when you read this, rolling your eyes at how dramatic I am. Or maybe you’ll be a teenager, feeling embarrassed by this emotional confession. I like to imagine, though, that you’ll be packing up a sturdy four-door sedan with your favorite jeans and polo shirts, a college bumper sticker on display. As you load up, you’ll share a reassuring smile, while I hold your hand tightly.
One day, it will be my turn for the drop-off. I might wear a brave face, or tears could flow down my cheeks. Either way, you’ll rush back to your car, leaving me behind, sniffling in the rearview mirror. And as that moment arrives, you’ll be looking ahead to a new adventure, not glancing back.
You won’t remember the lunch boxes, the tiny socks, or your favorite 2T shirt. You won’t recall that I woke up before dawn to whip up wild-berry muffins for breakfast. You won’t know that I sat in the car, pouring my heart out into this letter while tears streamed down my face. You won’t understand the mix of pride, love, joy, and sadness that fills a parent’s heart as they watch their child take those brave steps toward independence.
You may not know how that feels, but I certainly will.
Your loving parent,
Jessica
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Summary: This heartfelt letter captures the emotional experience of a parent during a child’s preschool drop-off. It reflects on the bittersweet nature of watching a child grow and take steps toward independence, while also acknowledging the deep feelings of love and pride that accompany such moments.