As my marriage crumbled, my health declined. I had been diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome), a condition that affects numerous systems throughout the body. I struggled with my weight, my blood sugar, my blood pressure, and an unpredictable cycle. The stress and unhappiness of my circumstances only seemed to make everything worse.
At that time, I was carrying the heaviest weight of my life—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
Yet even in those difficult years, there were bright spots that kept me moving forward. My children gave me purpose when I felt lost. My students gave me reasons to smile on days when I wanted to cry. They reminded me that I still had something valuable to give.
I loved teaching. In the classroom, I wasn’t someone’s wife, someone’s disappointment, or someone struggling to hold herself together. I was simply a teacher. Every lesson taught, every student encouraged, every small success reminded me that I mattered.
When so much of my life felt like it was falling apart, my children and my students helped keep me standing.
I taught a self-contained special education life skills class. My students were the brightest parts of my darkest days.
I had a small group of students, two of whom I had taught since they were three years old—a sweet, sassy little girl and a spunky little boy. She was nine and he was eight, their birthdays only a year and two days apart. Over the years, they became more than students to me. They became part of my heart.
The little boy was incredibly smart. He had a way of expressing himself that was animated, honest, and often hilarious. No matter how difficult my day had been, he could make me smile. He faced numerous health challenges and was frequently absent due to illness, but when he was in class, his personality filled the room.
Around that same time, my own health began to fail. I was hospitalized with severe anemia and diverticulitis. I received blood transfusions and powerful antibiotics as doctors worked to stabilize me. As I lay in a hospital bed trying to heal, life outside those walls continued moving forward.
Then came the phone call.
My sweet little student had lost his battle. He had passed away peacefully.
The news knocked the breath from my lungs. In that moment, it felt as though I had lost one of my own children. The grief was immediate and overwhelming. My heart, already bruised by years of loss, split open once again.
I grieved for his family. I grieved for my students, who would return to a classroom with an empty chair. I grieved for all the moments he would never have—the birthdays, the milestones, the future that should have belonged to him.
Most of all, I struggled to understand.
How could someone so young, so vibrant, and so full of life be taken from this world?
There are losses that time softens, and there are losses that leave permanent fingerprints on your heart. Losing him was one of those losses. Even now, I can still hear his voice, see his smile, and remember the joy he brought into our classroom.
For a child who spent so much of his life fighting to stay here, he left behind an extraordinary amount of love.
Ebbs & Flows 