My Son’s Last Day Of Primary School

Yesterday I picked my son up from primary school for potentially the last time. It was a rather subdued affair. There was no excitement, no leaving assembly, no celebration of this significant milestone. Instead there were tears from his classmates and parents. Some of the children were already in self isolation so there wasn’t even the opportunity to say proper goodbyes.

I watched my son, so uncomfortable with outward displays of emotion, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head down. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

That school has been so a huge part of his life for the past seven years. The teachers who have guided him, the classmates he has grown up with, that building has played such a significant part in his development. And now it’s over.

It seems just moments ago I emotionally watched him walk in on his first day of school. The shy socially awkward little boy who just wanted to play with his dinosaurs and be left alone. The boy who during his first school nativity sat with his back to the audience because he hated the thought of people looking at him. His confidence has come on leaps and bounds and while he’ll never be the first to volunteer to talk in class, the change in him is staggering.

It’s his 11th birthday next week, which we will be celebrating indoors. Another milestone that will pass in a subdued manner. No birthday party, no opportunity to see his friends, no meal out. It’s moments like this I’m extra thankful he has his siblings and we’ll do our best to make it as special as we can.

And now we face the daunting prospect of high school, before he even had the chance to finish his final year of primary. It’s a challenge we’ll face together, and thankfully alongside the majority of his existing classmates.

It’s a lot for a child of his age to deal with. His younger siblings are thankfully still pretty unaware of the implications of what’s happening and are taking it all in their stride. But J is so much more aware. He watches the news with his little eyebrows furrowed with worry. He sees the empty shelves in the shops. He hears the scary statistics. He worries about his family and friends and grandparents.

Never before has looking after our mental health been more important. I work in a pharmacy, I see first hand the panic and worry on our patients’ faces. The stock shortages, the elderly patients alone and frightened and just wanting someone to talk to. Our mental health is just as important as our physical health, and this extends to our children too.

I feel it’s important they appreciate the bigger picture. J knows sacrifices need to be made for the greater good and he understands. But it doesn’t mean he can’t feel sad. It doesn’t mean he can’t feel disappointed his birthday events have been cancelled. He sulked when I told him he can’t go to the park and see his friends. I encourage that. I know he understands the reasoning, I know he’s not really cross with me. He just needs to let it all out. With school being cancelled his home is now his one safe place and if he can’t let out his emotions here where can he?

So while we can appreciate there are so many people out there who have it so much worse, it doesn’t make our own feelings, or those of our children any less valid.

If you’re worried about your child’s mental health during this epidemic, Child Mind Institute has some great advice.