Watching the clock

Since the sad events of recent days, I've developed a new way of marking time. Until this Wednesday, I kept thinking, this time last week, my life was normal. Since Wednesday, I keep thinking, this time last week, Blair was still in Alli where she belonged.

Now, we are approaching the 1 week anniversary of her birth and death. This time last week, Alli's water had broken but Blair still had plenty of fluid and, as far as we knew, was still floating happily up high away from the cervix. The doctor had told us that once the water breaks, half the babies are delivered within a week. The other half, however, managed to hang out ond mature to varying levels of development before delivery. We were busy trying to convince ourselves that we would be in the "lucky half" and keep her in. This time last week, Alli, Boy Wonder, and I were settled in the hospital room so far from home but happy to be there, hoping they could work a miracle and keep the little lady in Alli's womb.

When I go to bed tonight, I'll be saying, this time last week, Alli was still pregnant, having bladder spasms but not contractions. This time last week, we still had hope.

When I wake up in the morning, I'll be all out of good "this time last weeks." When I get up to get ready for work, I'll be saying, this time last week, my granddaughter was dead.

I'm both looking forward to and dreading going back to work. It will be nice to be back in a routine. A busy routine that will mercifully help keep my mind off the difficult days we've endured. There's not much time to grieve when you are surrounded by 19 five year olds who have really missed their teacher and are glad to have her back. Even though they have no idea of what's gone on with me since we were last together, they know their worlds were rocked by my absence. They, too, thrive on and need the routine that we share. Tomorrow will be good for me and them. What I dread are the well-meaning adults who will look at me with a hint of sorrow in their eyes. Or pat me on the back and tell me how sorry they are. Because that makes me cry. And I can't cry at school. That would devestate my students. They are too young to understand. Teachers are teachers. We aren't human. We don't have feelings. I bet most of them don't even believe I sleep or have a home other than the classroom.

To further complicate my first day back, Alli just texted me that the older sister of two of my former students was killed in a car wreck last night. These are two of my very favorite former students. Visitation with the family is tomorrow night and I need to go. The siblings I taught are in 2nd and 4th grade and have already lost their dad. Now, their older sister has died, too. However, I'm not sure I can. I just looked at her obituary and it is on the same page as Baby Blair's. I went to the site, looking only for the teen's obit and then found myself seeing my granddaughter's name right below hers. I guess I'll start the day planning to go to her visitation and then evaluate my ability to go at the end of the school day.

Come on, Monday. I'm ready! I need to get you over with. Surviving the first day back will be a good indicator of how the rest of my week will go.