Stephanie Simpson photo
September can officially go eff itself. My already pulpy, bruised heart was further pummeled with the loss of a dear friend last week. I’m thinking a lot about how I can be a better person in whatever time I have left. Fifty more years? Five more days? Who knows.
Every day, I try to be more patient, more kind, more thoughtful. A better person. Sometimes I succeed, but a lot of times I fail.
Grace has been pretty solid on kindergarten drop-offs in the six weeks since she started school, but today something snapped. We said goodbye as usual, I started walking away from the school gate, and then heard a wail behind me. I turned around to see her skinny frame running toward me, gold curls bouncing, face pink and wet from crying. She didn’t want to let me go. I hadn’t realized that a final wave had become part of our goodbye ritual, in addition to a hug, kiss, and happy thought. I didn’t wave.
We sat on the school steps for a while and held hands. I tried to talk about what a fun day she would have, and remind her that she’s getting an award tomorrow for being awesome. Her tears dried. She was a little whimpery the second time around at the gate, but she slid through right as it was closing. A kind, tall teacher held her hand and walked her to where her class had gathered in the yard. Once in class, her teacher saw that she’d been crying and gave her some water.
And then I picked her up early so she could play in the park, but mostly what she wanted to do was sit on my lap and ride on my shoulders. Fine with me.
Today I did not fail.