Colors of Goodbye

I just said goodbye to you, sweet Shira, my third child and my youngest (at the time). From the moment you came into this world, you had unmistakable strength. You were oh-so-cute at two, but you asserted yourself with daily tantrums. While I’d happily kept your older sisters home until they turned three, with you, I had no choice. The world was your laboratory and I couldn’t keep up with your curiosity. So off to pre-nursery you went. You entered the classroom with confidence and ran off to explore your new environment. The separation anxiety was all mine.

The Hungarian lady behind the counter recognizes me. She always gives a free sprinkle cookie to whichever child I have in tow. I feel self-conscious ordering my coffee and danish to sit alone at a table.

“I just dropped off my baby at her first day of gan,” I feel the need to explain. “For the first time in five years, I have the morning to myself.”

She hands me my coffee and asks in her thick accent, “The little blondie?” I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. “Is good,” she proclaims. “Mommy needs time, too.”