The Kids

This past year there’s been one force in my life that’s kept me going (other than my dog, Athena): my kids at school. After Sayre, I would come back to my office to find notes all over it from various students telling me they loved me and they were there for me. Hugs from these sweet babies became something mooring me to a body I so desperately wanted to escape. After Aurora, a group of my sweet kids made my favorite dinner and brought it to my house where we ate and they offered to clean my house or whatever I needed. I was, and still am, so grateful that I wasn’t allowed to isolate myself like the first time.

Now, my kids know the anniversary is close and that I’m not feeling myself. My first hour makes sure I eat breakfast every morning, hugs flow constantly, and my kids have become the ones carrying me instead of the other way around. While sitting in the resource office during my planning, one of my sweet loves told me she was proud of me. That meant far more than I can ever say because I feel so defective and the opposite of proud of myself. Our counselor checked in on me and assured me no one would be upset if I took the day of Sayre’s death off. So I am. My husband and I are going to go to his grave for the first time that day. I swore I wouldn’t go to Sayre’s grave until I had a living baby in my arms, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. I wish Aurora was next to her brother. But I know both of our babies have the same resting place: inside of me. They’re part of me in every way, delicate threads woven into the tapestry of my life, one red and one white.

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