My biggest fear

I have a very real and very big fear. I am afraid of Fi being forgotten. I'm afraid that as the years go on, and as life moves on, people will forget that she existed. Because she did. Very briefly, but she existed.
  It's been in my mind, how best to remember her. How can I make a positive change out of something terrible? I'm still working on that, but I have some ideas. But I deeply fear that people will forget that, we should be celebrating milestones, birthdays, first days of school etc.
  As life has gone on, I have had to move forward. I have gone back to work and that's been good. I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to teach with the same openness and joy that I had before. Honestly, I think my passion has deepened because I feel a stronger drive to do what is best for these beautiful children. I wake up every morning, out on my emotional armor and face my day. I know I'm going to think about Fi. I know that something will remind me of her daily, even if I am moving at the speed of a 3 year old, something will make me think of her. Last week, I had two children, not from my class, mention "I know you have a baby." Or "is there still a baby in there." I calmly pretended that I didn't hear them and moved on to help other students. I have put protective armor on to help deflect these comments and worries, so I can do my job. I'm fairly certain, people think I'm doing great. That I'm "moving on" and "over it."
Surprise: I'm not. I go home. I take off my badge. Like batman taking off his suit. I become Carole, again, and allow myself to be me. If I need to cry, I cry. If I want to break things, I do it. I save it for my safe place. I will never be over it.
Yes, life has moved forward. We can't stop time. Yes, I have accepted that I need to participate in the daily ins and outs. But no, I'm not great. I haven't moved on. I have perfected the alter ego. Mrs. Ryan, courageous bereaved mom, teaching children and loving it. When you ask me how I'm doing and I relply, "good" or "great." Please hear the silent clarifier, "but I'm still not "me."
So as I have faced the idea that life has gone on, my fear that Fi will be forgotten has grown. As my visible grief disappears, I worry her memory will. I ask you, reading this, to remember her. it doesn't have to be daily, but if you see a butterfly, say a prayer, or look at the stars, say a little hello.  I received a message last night from a friend that she looked up at the stars while walking her dog and said hi to Fi. So simple, but it meant so much to me.
Thank you.
I know this entry was pretty scattered.