As of about a week ago I am no longer a school mum.

There will be no more creative writing of sick notes when the child was not really that crook. No more having to come up for an educational aspect to attending a Taylor Swift concert during exam period – look I didn’t check the dates when I bought the tickets and they weren’t BIG exams.

No more trying to come up with a strategy for dealing with Mr L. the supervisor in charge of said exams and the barrier between us and Tay Tay. Frankly, we were all scared of him. Until we lost Simon. Then poor Mr L. became the calm fellow with the tissues who patiently waited when we teared up and then carefully and kindly explained that we were still going to do what he wanted us to do but he understood how difficult it was and we could take our time doing it. Well we could take a little bit of time to do it. Well, look really it’s just better to get it over with, so how about you just do it now. And that’s how my kids passed every school exam and assessment while battling the aftereffects of grief and a mother who would have excused them from doing anything if it had of been in her power.

This week there was no school lunch shopping. No more wandering aimlessly up the snack aisle going “geeze what bars does she eat this week”?

I will never again experience that special joy of discovering the school lunch box, complete with composted banana that didn’t get unpacked two weeks ago at the START of the holidays.

My phone won’t buzz with the 3.30pm text asking if I’m planning on buying any food because she’s home and hungry and there’s NOTHING TO EAT in the fridge.  Never mind I’m smack bang in the middle of producing a three-hour-live-radio-program.

Graduation

Of course the end was not without its challenges. Completely because of me.  The school has a lovely stylised ritual of graduation. There’s  a mass at the church the night before. Then on the final day a graduation awards ceremony. After which the kids head to town for a scavenger hunt.

I came down with a migraine on the day of the mass. That was simple really, I gave her the keys to the car, sent a barely legible text to my boss to say he wasn’t going to see me  and went back to bed for the day. I woke up to the hangover headache of a typical migraine but then got on with the business of getting to the church and made it through the ceremony fine. Sent a more legible text to my boss saying I would be in tomorrow but a bit late after the awards ceremony.

Fast forward to 6.00am the next day and I wake up with a shocking headache, then my eyes stop being able to see and my speech becomes erratic – I think I’m saying “I have a migraine” but out of my mouth comes the words “rain green cat” it’s a thing people, there’s a medical term for it, a bit like having a stroke but not as permanent. I’m worse than yesterday and the awards ceremony is at 9.30am. I send an even less intelligible text to the boss to say I’m incapable of work. Then text the child in her bedroom for help.  She provides drugs, a bucket and organises herself a lift to school.

I throw up three times. Then crawl out of bed to chase the daughter down the hallway promising I’m going to make it to the ceremony.

“Mum, I’ve only got hours left, don’t ruin it for me now, don’t make me the kid whose mother threw up and passed out at graduation”.

“I’m coming, you won’t have anyone there, your father’s dead, your sister’s not here, Nana isn’t well, I’m bloody well coming”.

“Thanks Mum, wasn’t feeling too bad about my life until then. But honestly I would rather have nobody than have you make a scene”.

At this point Nana arrives having decided she’s recuperated from her illness last month and can sit through the prize giving speeches. She takes one look at me and says

“You look terrible, you can’t go anywhere looking like that”.

“Thanks Mum, wasn’t feeling too bad about my life until then”. Actually I was feeling pretty bad about my life, but choosing to ignore it.

I refuse to listen to both of them, shower and get to the awards. I sit strategically placed next to an exit, just in case the nausea gets to me. But I make it, without creating a scene. Expect for the bit where daughter’s friend wins an major award and her Nana sitting in front of me loses it, which makes me lose it. But hey tears aren’t throwing up so I’m good!

Remembering

Walking out of the draughty school hall for the last time after the Graduation ceremony I remember all the parent-teacher meetings – a mad rush around the cavernous room for my five-minute slot with teachers almost as harried as me. In the beginning there had been two of us trying to keep up with who was teaching which child and what the hell the subject was. Then there was just me. How well they were doing becoming irrelevant, I just needed to know they were surviving.

Mr H. the youngest’s pastoral care teacher would acknowledge every March parent-teacher that it was getting close to the anniversary. He remembered the two of us sitting in front of him at the last one. We must have said something funny. Simon was in his work gear. His teeth damaged from a work accident waiting for the final repairs.  We probably looked a sight. Simon died just after that parent-teacher night. He was due to go back to get his teeth finished the Monday after he died. Do you think God gives you back your teeth if your wife doesn’t bury you with the repairs done? I don’t know how I would have got them fixed, I think they were implants, I would have had to have dragged him Weekend at Bernies style into the specialist for the final fitting.

Standing in the car park, the way-too-small car park, the scene of many a cursing-under-my-breath rant as I failed yet-again to get there in time for nabbing a spot. Yes, I realise swearing in the front of the Catholic school you have chosen to send your children to isn’t ideal, but seriously they needed to build a bigger car park, it was a brand new school for God’s sake! Standing in the car park I remember those early months after Simon died. My days were a bit aimless then so I got to school in time for a park. Climbing into my friend’s car as we waited for the bell to ring, almost inevitably ending up in tears, while she promised me I wasn’t alone, we were going to get through it and all of our friends were going to help us. You were right Leanne, you all did help and we did make it. Thank you.

The display nights, the awards ceremonies, the countless other activities of school life. The morning drop offs, racing to make it before the bell because one child cannot for the life of her be on time and she takes you all down with her!

The assessments with their strict rules for handing in before 8.45am – I’ve finally got enough printer ink and paper to supply a small manufacturing business – we’d never get caught short again, if we weren’t finished with all that now.

So that’s done then.

13 years of school mum responsibilities finished. I’ve coordinated more paperwork than it takes to run the Sydney City Council, manned more sausage sizzles than is healthy, sat on the P&C, volunteered on excursions, read readers in classrooms. So help me one year I even helped with group maths activities – I’m not sure anyone passed that term! I’ve driven 100’s of km’s to athletics carnivals and cross country. I’ve held my breath in music and drama performances and tried not to pronounce the words louder than the child who was supposed to be remembering them.

I’ve laughed with mums and dads at the school gate, reassured and been reassured when things didn’t seem to be going right with one child or another.

I’ve made amazing friends.

And somewhere along the way two fine young women emerged and despite my fears at various times, they can both read, write and do basic maths, so it’s turned out OK.

Here’s to the next adventure.