Nathan’s preschool teacher has been sick the entire week and thus we’ve had substitutes every day. I walked into his classroom today hoping she was back, but instead the air was knocked out of me. My hands began to shake the way they do when I have too much caffeine. I squeezed Elea closer to my chest and hoped no one could see the sweat that was starting to form as my body burned. In a blink of an eye, it was Spring 2014. My knees shook and it took all the strength I could muster up to keep me from falling over.

Elea and Mama

Nathan’s substitute for the day was his old teacher, the teacher that held my hand through emails and gentle questions. She encouraged me at a hopeless time. When Emme passed, the last thing I wanted to do was take Nathan to all his classes. I felt ashamed. I felt as though I had failed my daughter. My body had failed to be a safe home for her. I had failed at giving her life. And although I know this is all wrong and completely false, these feelings overpowered me for a long time. I felt worthless.

Mama, Papa, Nathan, Emme’s Bear and Elea in the belly

His teacher emailed me and every time I had the courage to come to class, she always greeted me and Nathan with love. I remember trying to pick up where I left off because Nathan needed his mother, but every time I walked into his school, all I could think about were the things everyone else was thinking. Feeling sorry for me and avoiding me. I now understand that they avoided me because there was nothing good enough to say to a grieving mother whose eyes looked like they were on a short pause from crying. Those days were shattering for me. But I never forgot her because every time I walked in there, it was like she knew and she held my hand through the rest of the school year.

Love

This morning, our eyes met and I knew she remembered. We talked about Nathan but neither one of us had the courage to go back. I wanted nothing more than to give her a big hug and let her know how vital she was to my survival, but I couldn’t. My voice immediately cracked, my eyes filled and my body weakened. I couldn’t say thank you.

I’m not beating myself up about it. Like I have said before, grief is like the ocean waves, you never know which wave will knock you down, but you must get up, over and over again. I truly hope she knows what a beautiful person she is and how her kindness still inspires me. And next time, I hope I can get a step closer to telling her.

xoxo