One of our preschool students died this week.
She was in kindergarten now, but still, she was still one of our preschool students.
I wasn't her teacher but last year I subbed as an aide on Mondays in her class. I spent a lot of time with her those days. She liked to talk and tell stories and sit by the teacher and give hugs. Exactly the things I like to be on the other end of.
The funeral was today.
That mother. Oh my dear sweet Lord, that mother.
I had a dream last Saturday that my Adam went on a camping trip and went canoeing, hit some wild water, fell out, hit his head and died. I watched him die and then I was transported to a funeral home where someone was asking what I wanted to do about things like caskets and flowers. In that dream, in my sleep, I felt like someone had reached in a ripped out my whole heart and, THANK YOU JESUS, I woke up in a cold sweat trying to catch my breath and crying.
I woke up.
I woke up.
But I felt it. I know it wasn't real, but I felt it. I hope to everything that is good and holy that I never ever feel it again.
That mother. She will feel it forever and there is nothing I can do for her. Nothing anyone can do for her to take that raw ache away.
How do you go on after something like that?
I hope I never have to figure that out.
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