Me: What happened to you today?
Myself: I feel miserable! I missed to pick my child from school on time.
Me: What? Why? How could that happen? What were you doing?
Myself (sobbing): The school has a different schedule and hours this week. The early pick up time just slipped off my mind. By the time I realized, it was forty minutes past the expected time.
Me: What did you do then?
Myself: I panicked, shuddered, slipped on to the first shirt I could reach from the closet. My face was wet with tears rolling down. My husband swooped in, dropped off from his work call and drove me to the school (two minutes away). He left me in the car and rushed to the campus looking for our daughter. The school seemed empty.
Me: Where did you find her?
Myself: At first he went searching around the play area where a few kids were seen playing. Then I saw him walking in the opposite direction when my heart sank. My mind was filled with the worst of possibilities and thoughts. After five minutes he came out with our child. She was near the school office to make a phone call to us. There were several other kids who were waiting to be picked up too.
Me: How did you react?
Myself: I apologized, hugged her and cried. She hugged me too, consoled and calmed me down. Her eyes welled up on meeting me.
Me: How do you feel now?
Myself: I feel terrible. I can’t be a worse mother. I spent the entire morning talking to a cousin, helping them with something, lost track of time and missed the new schedule. I put my child through an anxiety.
Do you remember what happened to me on the first day of second grade in school?
Me: I remember having missed the school bus and reaching home late night.
Myself: Yes. But I did not miss the bus. It was crowded and I couldn’t squeeze in with my extra heavy backpack. Then I suddenly remembered my mother’s advice- “When you need any help, go to Geetha Aunty (Geetha Miss)”.
She was a teacher in my school and my mother’s friend. I dragged myself out of the long line to board the school bus and walked towards Geetha aunty’s staff quarters in the school campus. I can’t recollect what I told her and why didn’t she try to contact my parents. Twenty-eight years have faded this memory away. Probably because there were only two houses in my entire neighborhood with a telephone and I did not have their numbers. I don’t recollect memorizing my parents work numbers at that time either.
All I could remember now is my mother, a neighbor and my friend’s father coming in a taxi to the school and eventually Geetha aunty’s apartment late at night, in search of me. They picked me up and went back home. I was tucked in my mother’s arms seated on her lap during the entire drive. I reached home to see my panicked aunt, grandmother and little brother who were comforted by my father.
Every time my mother talks about this incident, I ask her, “So what? I was safe in the end.”
But today, I experienced a slice of what she must have gone through that day.
Dear myself,
You should be a proud mother. You have raised a child who could remain calm in such a scenario. She wasn’t crying, she wasn’t anxious. She was preparing to make a phone call to you. She was sensible enough to understand that you forgot the time change.
You have given her enough love and support without which she wouldn’t have trusted you. You have raised her wise, emotionally, which broke her up on meeting you.
You have made her strong and bold to overcome nervousness and think on her feet. What you have done is good and right.
Your’s truly — Me
