Last Saturday, she should have been at cheer practice.

This Wednesday, we should have been leaving to go see her aunts, uncles and cousins she hasn’t seen in two years. But we aren’t. COVID-19 has changed everything once again.

‘Last days’ and goodbyes are nothing new to a seasoned military family. But to her they are.

She is four. This is the first one, the first one that will sting like this. The first time she is old enough remember the move. Old enough to understand. My sweet girl has already lived in four houses since she’s been born. But we have been lucky enough to be in this one for the past three years. She was so little when we got here. She’s still little, but her feelings are big. And so are mine.

She will leave her home, school, friends, teachers and coaches not knowing when -if ever- she will see them again. We are moving, we knew that going into this year. We didn’t know we would be moving during a pandemic. Or that there would be more uncertainty than ever before. Or that it would change everything for us. Over and over again.

We were supposed to have another month of the “normalcy” and routines I strived so hard to build for us this year. So many more school days and practices. We were supposed to have a goodbye party with her class. A ‘show off’ with her teammates, to see how hard she has worked in the program she got to be a part of for a few months. To see the proud look and joy on her face. All of that is no longer and option. And it hurts my mama heart. People tell me “it could be worse”, “she will bounce back”, “she will grow up to be more resilient”.

I’m certain that’s true, but it doesn’t bring me comfort. It won’t make her feel better when she asks me why she can’t see her teacher anymore. It wont dry her tears when I have to tell her ‘no’ we cannot go see your best friend.

I know we will be okay. I know we will adapt but the journey is going to be a hard one. And she didn’t choose this.

So I will fight back the tears at the parent teacher conference and in the pick up line. Trying to put on a brave face for my brave girl. But when I tuck her in at night and she tells me “Mama, I don’t want a new house. I like our house”. We will cry together.

“I know baby, I don’t want a new house either. But it will be okay”. And I’ll hug her tight. Because there’s nothing more I can say and it’s not fair. I didn’t cry on her first day of school. I knew she was ready. I was ready. We were both excited. But today? Today, I will cry. Because she’s not ready. I’m not ready. And we are not excited. Not yet. There will be new beginnings and silver linings. Eventually. But right now, everything is just gray.