It's been a difficult night and a difficult day here. Yesterday we found out that the day before (Sunday) a 3 year old girl from our school community died suddenly after apparently contracting a respitory infection a few days before. This little girl Haley was the younger sister of a girl in Year One of X's school. Last night, Matt and I knew very little about why this little girl had died, and the word 'meningococcol' was being said. The info we looked at on the web suggested that if it was meningococcal, this might have implications for some of the other kids at the school, and that the health department might do contact tracing.
Neither Matt or I slept well, and by morning I had decided that unless I could get some reassurance from the school staff, it wasn't worth the anxiety it would cause me to send X to school today. I think being in week 6 to 12 means we get to do whatever the hell we want to manage our emotional cocktail, and a kindy kid having a day off school is neither here nor there. Also, we had thought X didn't know about Haley's death, but at 6 am today she got into bed with us and started telling us about Haley's death. The school chaplain had taken out of class yesterday to tell her, knowing that there was going to be talk around the playground about "So and So's little sister died". So X was a bit concerned about it, and started saying she didn't want to go to school today.
I went to the school alone at 8.30 am and spoke to the Chaplain. She told me as far as she knew, the school had not been contacted by public health and no concerns about infection control had been communicated to the school. I thought if there had been any chance of it being meningococcal, the school community would know about it by now, so that reassured me enough to keep my anxiety levels down to managable levels. X still didn't want to go to school, but I got her dressed, took her out for coffee, and then dropped her off at school after telling her if she wanted to come home at any point, just tell the staff to give me a call and I would come get her. She had a good day.
Our school only has about 180 students. What are the odds of having 2 little girls die within 7 weeks within the school community? The Chaplain looked drained today when I saw her. How awful for the school to be supporting another family through another funeral so soon. And poor X doesn't need more chat around her of little girls' funerals and how sad it is to lose a sister. Also, it is likely that little Haley attended the same childcare as K does, although K says she didn't know her so maybe she was there on different days.
And Haley's poor family.... As much as I have been bitching about how hard week 6 to 12 is, there is NO WAY I would want to be back where they are, with the shock and the horror, and with the funeral in front of them and all of those big decisions to make, at a time when they don't know what day of the week it is. Doesn't it make you sick to think of what they must be going through.
One day Haley's Mum and I might catch up and be of support to each other, but I would much rather have met her as just 2 mums of kids at our school, rather than 2 mums of kids at our school who had a daughter die in first term 2010. The Chaplain thinks it might be useful for Haley's big sister to know that there is another girl in her school who has just lost a little sister (X), and she might hook the 2 of them up some time down the track. X told me this arvo that she thinks Salome and Haley are friends now in heaven, and she intends to tell Haley's big sister that next time she sees her.
It's hard knowing there is another family in our social sphere who is in such deep pain. I won't go the funeral, but I did make some suggestions to the Chaplain for how the school could contribute to the funeral that were appreciated, so I feel good about that.
For Haley's parents: holding you in the Light, and crying tears for you. It's painful beyond words and beyond limits, but I've been told by trustworthy people that it won't always hurt like this.
For Haley: Little One, wishing you peace of eternal rest, and crying tears for the rest of the life you didn't have. Give Salome a cuddle for me, and send some strength to your poor parents. It's very hard for us Big People to let you Little Ones go, so be patient with us parents, because when you leave us it hurts a lot and we get a very big sad feeling, bigger than the whole world.
To sleep. Matt and I are very tired, and Matt was home sick today. I was calling him my "green eyed, green shirted flu-infected comfort eater" today. He didn't think that was funny.
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