YMCA

When Jennie was 6 and in grade one at South Park Elementary School, she walked to the Y everyday after school with a group of children and adults for after school care. 

I worked across the street from the Y, and at 4:30 most days I would rush across the street to an aerobics class that lasted until 5:30. But Jennie’s care ended at 5:15, so she would be brought to the aerobics class where she would (under instructions from me), watch from a corner of the room for the last few minutes of the class. 

But Jennie was a joiner from a young age and would start following the class and as she got warmed up, she would move closer and closer into the class, following the instructor and working her heart out to the music. I would give her meaningful looks to remind her that wasn’t the deal, but she would do it anyway. 

God how I loved that child. She was so outgoing and adventurous, with a spunky streak of she’s going to do what she wants. So I would finish the warm down and stretches, watching Jennie follow along with the class in her lovable, goofy way. 

Then we would walk home together. I felt young, strong, and on top of the world holding Jennie’s hand. I thought I could keep her safe, that she would exceed me in education, career and happiness. She had her struggles all along, but growing up is hard for a sensitive soul. I worried that she was so forgetful, that she had an independent side that didn’t always listen to reason. It’s hard to articulate, but other than the usual worries that a mother has about keeping her child safe, I thought Jennie was invincible. 

How I miss you Jennie. I’m sick and lost without you. You were right about so many things that I didn’t understand. I’d like to be able to let you know those things. Maybe it could have helped.