My husband passed away on the day of preschool registration. I’m fairly confident he didn’t do it on purpose.
However, the president wasn’t impressed. I could tell by her tone. I’d called to ask if I could register our three year-old over the phone, rather than in person.
My brain had locked into automatic pilot hours earlier when the doctor phoned with the tragic news that John had finally succumbed to his illness, and it began scrolling through an instant list of “must do’s.” Besides alerting family members, close friends, educating myself about cremation and organizing a date for the memorial service, a high priority that morning was getting a pass on attending that evening’s preschool registration event.
The date had long been circled on our calendar. To ensure one of the 18 coveted spots in the threes class, a parent had to arrive early and be prepared to patiently queue outside the portable.
Surely my husband’s death bought me an out.
The president didn’t quite share that particular view.
“Death is not a reason to miss registration. If no one is present to actively register your daughter, she can’t attend our school.”
Now, I do understand that others might take this as an extraordinarily unsympathetic response, a ticket to search out other preschool options. Immediately. Not me. John and I had chosen this particular one carefully. Our daughter had to attend it. Why? For one very special reason. It was nearby.
Horrors. My feverishly overloaded brain somehow recognised that a sobbing widow didn’t quite fit the innocently happy parental lineup protocol. I’d have to recruit a friend to be my proxy. There was only one person I could ask. Thankfully this wondrous angel cleared her evening slate, even volunteering to get there extra early.
Thanks to her my daughter was in.
While I suspected pre-K would be a positive experience for my three-year old, I was clueless as to how this preschool would change my life.
How Preschool Connections Saved Me
While our post memorial service sojourn to New Zealand saved my sanity, prior to September I knew very few people in my own neighbourhood. My children were young – just 16 months and three. Most of my friendship connections tended to be either across the country, overseas or at the very least, a good thirty minutes away.
I was lonely and in need of something more. While the mom up the street and I were good friends, I didn’t have a local tribe. There were very few I could call on for instant help, understanding or simply a smile.
I remember growing increasingly worried as September approached and dreading having to endure the sympathy from others over the news that “my husband passed away in January.” Knowing how fiercely John had fought to remain alive, I refused to let his death define me or my children. But would these new acquaintances understand that? Could they get beyond the “her husband’s dead” concept to accept me for me? Or would I have to continue to soldier on with just a mere handful of nearby pals?
Worries interrupted my sleep as the first day drew nearer. Oh god. Would all of the parents be happily coupled? Would they accept a single mom? Would my daughter and I make connections, feel welcome, be a part of the group?
In the end these worries were happily unwarranted. You see, the preschool we’d chosen for its proximity, was of the parent participation variety where volunteering was a necessity, not an option.
The other volunteers, mostly moms, were also aching for connection. They longed to hangout with people who could relate to the endlessly draining demands of motherhood, the anguish of children not yet potty trained, the never ending sibling bickering, and those often soulless hours of supervising endless sessions of playdough, puzzles and colouring.
I particularly connected with those who intuitively appreciated the humor in all of the above. Also the ones who cheerfully endured the monthly volunteer obligation of scrubbing down and sanitizing each and every god damned toy, piece of equipment and article of clothing that could had been remotely gummed or touched by grubby three and four year olds. My particular favourite was the bleaching of the primary colored duplo blocks. They quickly shined to perfection. My absolute nightmare was the upside down floating of the naked baby dolls in the paddling pool. No further explanation required.
Even the monthly meetings were rather a hoot. I’ll never forget the time my son unconsciously outed me and my fondness for vats of wine and other delightful treats with his unique answers about his favorite person.
Alcohol helped fuse our connection. My new friends and I began to socialize outside the child friendly hours. My being single didn’t enter into the equation. Folks accepted me as Kelly, mom to M in the three year-old class. The fact that my husband had died far too prematurely was just part of my story. Everyone had a story and most were eager to share. Some were sensing potential problems for their marriages, others were already there. Several were dreading their looming return to work outside of the home. Others were fretting over whether to conceive another child, one or two were worried this wasn’t an option. We shared our goals, hopes and dreams for our children’s futures. In short, everyone connected. We were part of a tribe. We were home.
Looking back it was a magical time. My days were busy and full. Yes, if I needed a helping hand or a sympathetic and understanding ear, I simply had to pick up the phone. Someone was always ready to listen, willing to look after my two, allow me the life saving sanity of a free hour or three. And I was more than willing to do the very same for them. Our preschool connections saved us in more ways than one.
And the preschool registration policy? I’m happy to report it’s undergone a vast overhaul thanks to the relentless and swift efforts of my shocked beyond belief preschool pals.
This post was inspired by this month’s 1000Speaks topic of connection. You can have a read of the other posts written and shared throughout the online world by clicking here.
Enough about me and my delight of how preschool connections saved me. I’m curious about you. Have you been blessed through connection? In real life or online? If you’d care to share, I’d love to hear.
42 Responses
I love this, wow what compassion you have to the preschool director. My draw dropped open when I read that line, but it’s obvious you understand hurt people, hurt people. Thanks for sharing your story!!!
Thank you, Laurie. Everyone was positively gob smacked when they heard her comment that “death is not a reason to not register.” I was so focussed that I didn’t hear her words just the fact that I needed to get someone to do the job in person.
Wow, Kelly! What an amazing story of the power of connections, but I’m with your pre-school pals that the registration policy definitely needed some re-working! 🙂 I’m always so amazed when comfort comes to us from unlikely places. Thanks for sharing (by the way, you have a real gift with writing…I was pulled right in). Have a great day! 🙂 XO Shelah
Thank you for your kind comment, Shelah. Isn’t it wonderful when comfort comes to us from unlikely places? That is really the best.
Awesome story Kelly! I had the same experience when my youngest went to preschool. We had just moved to a new county so I didn’t know a soul. I came away with some pretty terrific friends. Now I’m starting over again 400 miles away again!
Oh you must have some stories, Rena! Starting again over 400 miles away? Wow. Good on you. May the new friends come into your life quickly and with positive energy and intent.
Kelly, I think this sentence is they key to understanding you:
“Knowing how fiercely John had fought to remain alive, I refused to let his death define me or my children.”
I’ve known you through blogging only, but I can tell that you’ve been extremely successful in this MO you’ve selected. I’ve known about your husband’s passing and it’s obvious that it’s been a shaping factor in your biography at the very least and probably one of the most significant events in your life, but in no way does it dictate the tone of your writing. I’m so happy you found the group of people that you’re worthy of in such a significant moment in your life. Oh, and I heart you. 🙂
Aw – thank you, Katia, for your very kind words. Looking back, I do believe the timing of John’s passing was significant. He was able to get to know his children and I was able to connect with others at a time when we all needed connections. I wasn’t blundering into a mix of people who’d been together forever. Does that make sense? And please know that I heart you, too!
I am shocked beyond belief at her callous retort to your condition at that time! But, I’m really happy that the preschool moms and you bonded so well over your common goals, joys and challenges!
I know – I can well understand your shock. To me, the words didn’t matter. My brain was on hold. I just heard the need to get someone in place down at the preschool at 7:00 that night. However, if I heard that comment today when my brain is anything but on hold I would be beyond shocked as well. Happily, my new preschool pals had the energy to set her straight!
Lovely connection post. I am willing to bet that some of those preschool connections you made will last a long time. I am still friends with Moms from my daughter’s preschool 🙂
Thank you, Christina. How lovely that you are still friends with Moms from your daughter’s preschool! I love that. I’m still pals with a few of the ones I met as well. And when I run into the others or their husbands we always share a meaningful smile and a wave or more.
What a heartfelt story Kelly. I always admire how dedicated you are to your children’s lives and activities, throwing yourself in with both feet. I am very happy that you found such a great group to help you through what must have been an incredibly difficult time in your life. I have been fortunate enough to have wonderful connections as well, through my daughters school and activities, who have become lifelong friends , including you, I am happy to add !
Thank you, Jane, for your never ending support. It truly means the world to me and I treasure our friendship. You’ve been such a spark in not only my life but in those of your broad, always expanding, network of pals.
Love that you had such a great tribe when you most needed it!!!
I love this one. Not surprisingly, it may be one of my absolute favorites of yours (except for ones about your mum… I just adore all those.) This is written with such delicious humor and straightforward truth-telling, and that tribe of friends. Sigh. Please tell me you’ve kept some near and dear, even to this day.
Aw – thank you. I am fresh off reading your tooth fairy story and memories of all of the times she neglected to pop by our house have come flooding back. And the photo of the note you included? A treasure. As for my preschool pals – I am indeed still good friends with a few of them. Am seeing one of them this Saturday night in fact! And when I spot the others or their husbands on the street we always exchange that secret “yes, I remember” smile.
I was the first of my friends to have kids, so I felt very alone as I went through the various stages with them. Just like you, I made so many wonderful friends during the preschool years, and I still keep in touch with some of them. And I’m sorry, but that president wasn’t a very nice person. Glad the policy has changed!
Oh Lana, that must have been a difficult and lonely time for you. I am so glad you connected with some wonderful friends during the preschool years. And that you stay in touch. I’m the same. In fact, I’m seeing one of them this Saturday night. As for the president? Well, she was quite something. I’m so glad my friends stepped in and made things right for the future preschool parents!
Your prose is so powerful and readable, Kelly. I want a book!!
One of my dearest friends I met when our babies were 2 mos old. She and I started chatting in the local Mommy & Me playgroup, both realized we didn’t know what the heck to do with our babies or how to survive past 3pm when our super mommy powers and patience wore out, and a great friendship was born! She gets me and I get her. No sugar coating this motherhood thing or competition anywhere. It’s awesome.
Oh, Katy, thank you. And aren’t those type of pals just the best? I treasure them. No need to sugar coat or compete. Exactly.
I agree with Katy. I smell a book in your future (if you haven’t written one already — I apologize for not knowing that). I was gonna write “Great Story!” But all of your stories that you share are great stories. I don’t know whether you live an unusually eventful life (drunken bus tour guide, Repo Woman, etc. etc.), or whether you are unusually talented at bringing the everyday to life. In either case, some great reads!
Oh thank you, Anna. Truly. I am of the belief that I am a quirk magnet. If something quirky is going to happen it seeks me out as a landing spot. I’m sitting here grinning over the stories that you remember. Thank you. I needed a nudge today.
What a touching story. I don’t know how you did it! <3 I feel so alone in my neighborhood full of elderly people, and I can't wait until my son is in a permanent school so I can start connecting.
Oh, Kelly. I completely understand. Once he’s in school you will start connecting. Your life will change. Are there any play groups or lessons that you can sign him up for in the meantime?
Kelly, I am sorry for your loss at such a precious time. And I honor your wisdom in connecting to the other parents and recognizing the humor in your experiences. You bring back memories of preschool. I remember my daughter riding her Big Wheel to preschool, fast, and then hitting the gravel loudly for an abrupt stop, like a teenager with a fresh driver’s license.
Sorry for your loss, Kelly, I did not know this happened in your life. This is a beautiful post, it will help and inspire other moms who have experienced unexpected loss. Hugs.
Thank you, Lisa. I don’t usually write about “the loss of John” as there are so many other things jostling and leaping and crying out to be written about. I forget that folks don’t know his part of our story! Thank you for your hugs. I do appreciate them.
Kelly, my heart went out to you-of-the-past when I read this. I am glad that, today, we are connected with each other. Even though we’re not in the same region for co-imbibing, I know that you and our other blogging friends are on the far side of the Internet, and all of us are in this together.
Oh how very, very true and comforting. Thank you, Harmony. I’m glad that we are connected too.
My preschool connections didn’t save me, but they gave me some of my most cherished friendships. For over a decade I’ve been meeting weekly with my tribe from the preschool days…those preschoolers enter high school in the fall. I’m so glad you found yours too, Kelly!
And I bet you can’t believe it has been over a decade. Wow. I know what you mean. I’m meeting up with one of my preschool pals on Saturday! Yippee!
The amazing gift to write and share this piece is beyond words. Your strength as both a mother and a wife shines through in these words, “I refused to let his death define me or my children.” As I read each line, I am thankful for your angel friend. She got you into the exact place you and your child needed to be. Beautiful piece, and may it bring strength to anyone who reads it.
Oh boy yes, I’m very grateful for my angel friend as well. We continue to be good friends and she continues to amaze me with her kindness. Thanks, Rachel. I do appreciate your kind words.
I used to fear the PTA. I would run if I saw one of “those” moms heading in my direction. They became my closest friends once they tricked me into attending a meeting.
Oh you have me grinning, Kerri. I know just what you mean. Everyone at preschool with older kids in the elementary school would warn me. “When you attend your first PAC (Canadian for PTA) meeting, DO NOT look the chair in the eye. She’ll have you signed up for a job in seconds.”
Kelly, your stories remind me a lot of my mom’s experience. A widow at 35 with young children, wanting to be accepted not pitied and needing to feel connected. I was lucky enough to join a playgroup when my oldest was 6 months old (he is now 33). Those moms are still a very important part of my life – in fact they were just over at my house for dinner this week!
Did I know your mom was widowed at 35? I can’t remember. I am so sorry to (re)learn that. But she does sound SO similar to me. Yes it’s all about the wanting to be accepted, not pitied and needing to feel connected. And I just love that you are still in touch with the playgroup folks. My good friend who moved across the country before having kids is just the same. She has a core group of pals that she met over 30 years ago at playgroup. As for me, I’m having dinner with one of my preschool moms tomorrow night!
What a great story! I am sorry about the untimely loss of your life partner, but am glad you were able to reach our and find more sturdy connections to be formed. Personally, I was hoping that heartless preschool director would lose their job… but an overhaul of the policy is great too!! You have a strong voice, and it rings true here.
Thank you for your kind words, Mary. As for the president, well she was an elected parent. We were “blessed” with her presence until the next election. I understand that the registration continues to run smoothly, thanks to the effort of my pals oh so many years ago!
My kids went to a preschool where parents took turns helping out as well … oh, I do remember cleaning those little toys!! I formed strong connections with those moms as well. It boggles my mind that anyone could lack as much ability for empathy as your preschool president did. Shame on her!
Weren’t those toys quite something to clean, Susan? Man alive. I swear you’ll never find cleaner preschools than the parent participations ones. Happily my new pals straightened out the president the minute I shared my registration experience.