Well, she has officially been launched into a new stage of life. It went well. She walked right into her classroom with her teachers; she got the teachers I specifically wanted her to have; she apparently did great and came out happy, told me all about stuff they learned about (mostly just orienting them to the room, where the bathroom is, what some of the materials are for, where they keep their backpacks/etc.
I took her out for a celebration lunch (Boston Market -- what can I say, she's 3...) and some ice cream. She then took a 2-hour nap, the first one in a while. She woke up, we made pumpkin bread, then played outside until Jon got home. Chatted with some neighbors, quick dinner, played some more and bedtime.
She's like a different kid.
I think this is exactly what she has been needing, desperately. You could just see her feeling bigger and older, being completely captivated by something new and fun.
And now I feel even sadder because it brings back so many memories of Hannah starting preschool, and because now Emily really isn't a baby or toddler any more like she was when Hannah was still here. I can't even pretend that Hannah's just temporarily gone. Too much time has passed, too visibly and concretely.
It was also brought to the forefront because I met with Emily's teachers for a bit after class was over and told them about the accident, Hannah's death, and Emily's and my injuries. I just wanted them to be aware of it from the very beginning so that if Emily talked about it or other issues came up about topics like family members, or safety, or who knows what, that they wouldn't be taken by surprise and they'd have an idea of how to handle it with the other kids and with Emily. The principal already knows, I talked to her the other day.
On the whole I'm glad that we've gotten to this stage. I think both Emily and I were ready for a change, and I have a very comfortable, confident feeling about all of this -- I believe she'll thrive at this school, and we'll each have some time to pursue our own interests and growth, and the time we have once she's home from school will be better because we'll each have had some space and respite.
But it's still sad, too.
It could always be worse, though.
My god. Those poor souls left in the wake of Katrina's destruction. I have no words at all. All I can do is be very glad that we're safe and alive and together, and find some way to help, even if it's pretty insignificant in the big picture. I know that I can't even begin to imagine or understand what they're going through.
Still, and I know this is way out of line and presumptuous to even think it: something about seeing the magnitude of the disaster and starting to realize how long it will take before anything is even close to livable, let alone normal, reminds me of when I first realized Hannah was dead. It was complete chaos. How could we wrap our minds around something like this? And how could we live with it? That's why I clung to some kind of fantasy that somehow it would be undone, that she would be brought back or just some miracle would happen, because it was simply unimaginable that it was real and permanent.
I do know that if she were here she'd want to do something to help the survivors, especially the children. While I understand completely that I'm biased, I think it's safe to say that she had a capacity for compassion and empathy that was a bit beyond what I'd imagined a five-year-old was capable of. The time that her friend Maddie's mother died, for instance. Or even when we read The Lorax and she became upset because a new shopping center was being built near our neighborhood (for which several wooded acres were cleared and leveled) and cutting the trees might destroy everything around us.
Never mind. I can only imagine how I'd be rolling my eyes if anyone else I knew wrote something like this about their kid; how delusional can a besotted parent be? People who didn't know her personally will just have to take my word for it. Or not.
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