Almost a week ago, a tragedy struck a small community and I've had a difficult time reconciling the event and my emotions. For one, it involved children not much older than Piper. Secondly, it took place at an elementary school and I'm a former school teacher. I think about it, I think about my kids, and I feel like I suddenly can't breathe anymore.
I drop Piper off at school every Tuesday and Thursday. I watch her skipping along the sidewalk into the school with her gigantic backpack and napmat, she barely glances behind her because she's super brave and not a baby, she's 4 (as she's been pointing out lately). And what am I doing? I'm frantically waving from the car, blowing kisses, saying "I love you, have a great day!" until she disappears into the building. Then I drive off and count the hours until I can pick her up.
And then there's Brynnsters: my wild, perma-bedhead little boss who has too much naughty for her little body. She's my little car companion. At every red light, I look behind me just to see her. She grins her Cheshire Cat grin almost immediately. It's a game we play at every stop. She can't quite say, "I love you", but I know that she lives to see my smile.
When I heard the devastating news, I made a decision that I shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't get so mad at the little things they do. I would make sure I gave them kisses all. the. time. I would strap them extra tight into the carseat with an "I love you". Smiles would be unconditional, yelling would be nonexistent. I'm trying, everyday I try to cherish my sweet girls because this event touched a very soft spot near my heart. While I've always known that life is short, this reminded me that there are some who won't get to hold their little babies and that, for now, I am very lucky.
I love my girls. I love them so much it feels as if my heart could burst. I love them fiercely.
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