I first met Dominique in August of 2017 at our back-to-school teacher inservice. All I knew about her was that she had previously been working at a nearby elementary school that I believe lost the allocation for her teaching position. We were lucky to be getting this young, beautiful, energetic teacher. In the week to come, I learned that Dominique would be taking a medical leave for 6 weeks shortly after school began to go to Houston for radiation treatments. She had recently been through reconstruction surgery following chemotherapy for breast cancer. The chemo had not worked to shrink her triple negative cancer... "the worst kind," I remember her saying. Everything Dominique and I talked about was very matter-of-fact. She wasn't emotional about it; it was just something to get through, something standing in her way but obviously tackle-able. The school rallied around her, wearing our yellow shirts to send her off to Houston, and then we wore those shirts every week as a sign of comfort and support for her during that difficult time.
Dominique came back and continued to teach throughout the spring, and by May, she was declared cancer-free. She and I talked about her next reconstruction surgery before school got out for summer; this was shortly after my mom, a two-time cancer survivor, had her own issues with a few surgeries earlier that winter. Dominique had questions for my mom, as their surgeries were similar. I was so relieved when Dominique and I texted in the early summer that her surgery had gone well and she was healing nicely. She later went on to travel to Italy and told me all about it when we got back to school in August. She shared some great travel tips and taught me how to use AirBnB. :) In the fall, Dominique shared the exciting news that she and her husband were expecting their first child in early April.
Dominique's pregnancy went on pretty routinely. As February rolled around, she was looking bigger and bigger, and we were all getting excited to meet baby Liam. Dominique got sick in February and missed some school due to pneumonia, but she was able to come back a couple weeks before Spring Break. Between meetings and classes, we would catch up briefly, or we'd see each other in the hall, and I'd check in to see how pregnancy was treating her. She was ready to have that baby - feeling sore and tired. Her "walking pneumonia" wasn't helping, and she was having trouble breathing.
Over Spring Break, I saw through Facebook that Dominique and her husband, Nick, had welcomed Liam a few weeks early! What great news! I was so happy to see this great post on my newsfeed. School started back on Monday, and her students were excited to know that baby Liam was born and felt happy for their teacher who was now officially on maternity leave. Tuesday went on, and we were all moving about life as normal.
Wednesday morning, I had literally JUST begun leading a 504 meeting when my cell phone rang shortly after my desk phone rang. Seeing it was the front office calling (and they knew I had a meeting), I answered to be sure everything was okay. It was my principal. He asked if I was in the building. I said yes that I was just starting a 504 meeting, "Is everything okay?" "No. It's not. Can you please come to my office?"
A thousand thoughts raced through my head - first wondering if everyone in my family was okay. But, I had JUST left the boys and Sam at home, and I felt certain either Sam or my mom would be the one calling my cell if something were wrong at home. So, I worried a student was in danger next. A tardy student and her mother were waiting for someone to let them in, but not one person was in the front office. I let them in and told her to go to class and not to worry about her tardy (she looked teary, no one was there to help us, and I had no idea where the tardy passes were, AND her teacher was in my room for the meeting!). I knocked on the principal's door to find our two office ladies with him. They were all distraught looking. "Dominique passed away." Those three words. They hit me like a ton of bricks. "What?!?!" "Dominique passed. She died yesterday morning." He had tears in his eyes, and his voice trembled. My hands cupped my face. I sat down, my hands still at my cheeks. My mind began racing... how could this be true? She just gave birth! What??
My principal asked, "What are our next steps? What do we do? Who do I need to contact?" I just sat. He told me the story of how he had found out, and then repeated, "What are our next steps?" I have NO idea what he had just told me. I said, "I'm going to need you to repeat all of that. I'm sorry. I wasn't able to take that in." Everyone in the room understood. The information we received throughout the morning was that Dominique had died on Tuesday morning, one week after giving birth. Her cancer was back, and it had taken over. It was in her liver, her lungs, her bones. She weakened every day after Liam was born and passed away at the hospital on his one-week birthday. Absolutely devastating. Absolutely unfair.
Since then, my mind has been either racing with various thoughts or stuck on one thing. The racing thoughts involve either the logistics or the unknown: who do we need to tell, who already knows, how do we tell the students, did she know the cancer was back?, was she able to enjoy any of her time with her son?, how will this affect her students, what about that meeting?, what about that referral?, how did this happen?, her parking spot will be empty, I need to reprint that signature page... the parent can't see her name on that paper, how did this happen?, how did this happen?, how did this happen???
The one thing it's stuck on, though, is the fact that she got to be a mother for one week. One F-ING week! The morning after we found out, my alarm went off early so I could be at school before students came in. I laid in bed for a little while and went to my Photos app. I scrolled to my pictures of Knox as a one-week-old baby. I had to see what that looked like - how little - how fragile. Sam rolled over and hugged me, looking over my shoulder to see our infant Knox in those pictures. I said, "This is what a one-week-old looks like." Then I scrolled to present day as the next 3 years fast-forwarded before me. "This is what I would have missed," I began, as all those photos flew up my screen. Silence. That's heavy. It's hard to take in. And he's my THIRD.
My first baby, Banner, is 7. I remember my first week with him. It was a whirlwind of learning, of healing from surgery, of complete disorientation of night and day and what life is like now as a new mom. It was a high for Sam and me as a couple - sharing in this whole new adventure together - falling in love with each other all over again as we leaned on each other during this new but scary time as we navigated parenthood. I was learning my child's temperament, he was learning me. We were having feeding issues; he was jaundiced; I was emotional; I was tired; I was in pain. It wasn't the birth I had imagined or wanted, and I was learning parenthood would never be what I expected or thought it would be.
I can't help but wonder what Dominique was going through, physically and emotionally. All the typical new mother stuff plus a devastating blow that cancer was taking over and stealing everything from her. And since finding out about Dominique's death, I can't get my head to move past how unfair this is. The one thing she wanted more than anything was to be a mom, and while the fact that her dream was realized has given so many friends of mine peace that this miracle baby got to be born to her, I, well, I am angry. I am so F-ing angry. Yes, Liam's a blessing. Yes, she got to be a mother. But, she was robbed of all the joy, all the worry, the pain, the celebrations, the tears, the smiles, the nurturing, the laughter, the anxiety, the cuddles, the anger, the cheering on, the check-ups, the heartbreaks, the birthdays, the Christmases, the teaching.... all of it.
Since Wednesday, every little thing that drives me NUTS each day, has suddenly become a reminder of what Dominique is going to miss in Liam's life. I can't stand brushing Knox's teeth... he bites the brush every time, swallows the toothpaste, doesn't really know how to spit, and demands that he try to take the brush from me. But, dammit, she'll never brush Liam's teeth. She'll never fight with him over how long he brushed for or if he got the back ones good enough. She'll never get to be the one to calm his fears when he can't sleep - to hear what's on his mind that is keeping him awake. She'll never roll her eyes at how many times she's asked him to get his homework done or get frustrated that he won't try the best meal she's ever made. She'll never wonder if she answered him the right way when he asked that deep question. She'll never be the one to kiss boo-boos or know just the right way to heal a growing pain. She'll never wonder if his fever is getting too high and if she should call the doctor. She'll never be the comfort he needs when he's cried throughout his whole swim lesson and just needs to be wrapped in his mama's arms. She'll never be dragged from her warm bed, woken in the deepest of sleep, because of his cries to find his pacifier or have to cover him up because his covers "aren't working." She'll never teach him to tie his shoes or talk him into riding his bike without training wheels when he's fearful. She'll never have to coerce him to stay buckled in the grocery cart and distract him from all the goodies he wants her to buy. She'll never sit through a scorchingly-hot soccer game, read the same story over and over and over again, or fish his favorite toy out of the bottom of the toilet. She'll never cringe at the mud he tracks in or the fingerprints covering the just-cleaned windows. She'll never trip over his toys she asked him to clean up, look for a lost library book for the umpteenth time, cuss at the pain of stepping on his Legos, or gag at finding an old sippy cup of milk. She'll never get to do a LOT of things. And sweet Liam will never know what he's missing.
And dammit, none of this is making me feel any better. Like I said, writing isn't going to make it go away. I'm still in a state of shock and anger. Today was her memorial service, and even though some of my words were read aloud by the pastor, I still haven't truly cried. I want to, but can't. I think I'm still not there yet. I've teared up with her students; I've teared up with my colleagues; I've cried putting my own kids to bed and reflecting on how unfair the whole thing is; but I haven't really cried. I'm still in shock and angry, and dammit my postpartum anti-depressants won't let me! I want to cry -- because the sadness is there, and my mind is stuck, and it's so unfair, and nothing is helping. But you know what, I'm going to be a better mom, a better wife, a better colleague. Even when I want to complain, I'm gonna rethink that. ... Wait. You know what?? Dominique will never "get" to complain about her child, about parenting, about motherhood. My whole blog began as a complaint about wedding planning, and then it turned in to a complaint about pregnancy, and then motherhood. Complaining never changed anything, except it helped me breathe, helped me process, helped others connect to this human experience. And complaining about Dom being gone won't bring her back or make any sense of it, but damn it feels good to be angry and let it out. So maybe I will keep complaining, but with a twist. A complaint with a whole lot of gratitude that we are still here - that we GET to complain - that we have these stressful times and can get through them together.
Oh, Dominique, you have taught us so much in the last week. You taught us how to live and how to fight and how to die with grace and strength and love. You will not be forgotten, ever. Thank you for letting me be a part of your life and being a part of mine. I will carry you with me. I hope you are at peace even when we are still struggling with the devastation of the space you left. My thoughts will continue to be on you, but soon, I hope to be a little less angry and reshape these thoughts into the gifts I know they really are.
The family has setup a PayPal account for baby Liam’s education. If you’d like to donate, here’s the link.
