At pickup, Elena’s teacher gave me a pile of her sketches.
“She’s been working hard,” she remarked, beaming as if she knew something I didn’t.
Honestly, I was in a hurry to make dinner before her father returned home, so I thanked her, crammed the papers into my tote bag, and didn’t give it much thought. But after evening, when the house was finally quiet, I sat down and took them out.
The first was simply hearts. Spilling off the paper like they couldn’t fit inside the lines, dozens and dozens, huge and small. In haphazard pencil on the back, she wrote: “Every one is a ‘I love you.'”
I chuckled. Cried a bit. Elena in her classic form.
I then reached the pink sheet. Her name was at the top of this one; underneath it read: “I adore Mom. Dad.
Three hearts sketched near the bottom—two side by side, one slightly off to the corner.
I nearly overlooked it. But that third heart, the one kept off, had something within. Not like the others’ scribbles.
A little “T.”
Initially, I believed it to be an error. A pencil slip. Flipping through additional sketches, I came upon another one that read: “I love T too.”
The fact is we lack a “T.”
When I questioned her who it was, she glanced up from her cereal and replied, “Oh, you do know. You only forgot.
I was thinking about it all night. Who on earth could be “T”? It wasn’t anyone in our family—no aunts, cousins, or friends sprung to mind. Elena, though, spoke as though she had known this individual for all time.
I presented him the sketches when his father returned home later that night. He lifted an eyebrow but dismissed it. He said, “Maybe it’s someone from school.” “You ought to inquire once more for her tomorrow.”
Elena shut up, though, when I asked. Refusing to look at me, she pushed her scrambled eggs around her plate. She murmured, “It’s alright if you forget.” “T gets it.”
I was beginning to feel uncomfortable now. Was this some made-up friend thing? Or worse—a symptom of something larger happening?
Later that week, I made the decision to go to Elena’s classroom at lunchtime. Ms. Lin, her instructor, welcomed me pleasantly. “How are things going?”
I thought twice about taking out the sketches. Elena keeps writing about loving someone called “T”. Do you have any idea why? I inquired.
Ms. Lin considered with her head tilted. “Hmm… not really.” We have never had a staff member or student with that first here. However… Tapping her chin, she hesitated. Last month there was a replacement. Mr. Tomás He stayed for a few days throughout my illness.
My stomach knotted. “What occurred?”
Ms. Lin said, “He seemed nice enough.” The children appreciated him. Then he abruptly ceased attending for no apparent cause. To be honest, I thought he got another employment.
Tomas. Might that be the “T” Elena kept mentioning?
I questioned Elena softly that night. “Sweetheart, is ‘T’ for Tomás?”
Her face brightened right away. Indeed! That’s the man! He’s very nice, Mother. Remember how he showed us how to sketch butterflies?
I hadn’t been there, therefore I didn’t recall; obviously, Elena did. Excitedly, she continued telling tales of how Mr. Tomás had taught the class enjoyable art methods and even one day delivered sweets shaped like animals. Hearing her speak made my heart hurt not only because she sounded so joyful but also because it reminded me how transient such times were. One week, a stranger enters your life and makes such an impact that your kid recalls them months later.
Still, something bothered me. Why would someone like Mr. Tomás disappear without a word? It felt… off somehow.
Determined to get solutions, I phoned the school district headquarters the following morning. Eventually, I spoke to a person after negotiating what seemed like never-ending computerized menus. I said, “Hi, I’m looking for details on a substitute teacher who worked at Oakwood Elementary under earlier this year for just a short while.” Perhaps his name was Tomás?
For a time, the other end was silent. The lady then let out a loud sigh. “Oh, indeed. Mr. Tomás Alvares. Sadly, he died suddenly just after his task finished.
I stood still. Died? I gripped the phone more firmly. “What occurred?”
She said gently, “It was a car accident.” On his way home late one night, a drunk motorist struck him. The whole community was heartbroken.
I hung up feeling empty. How could this man who had so deeply affected my daughter’s life be gone? And why had no one informed us?
Elena arrived home from school that afternoon; I struggled to decide whether to inform her the reality. Would she get it? Should I protect her from the suffering of knowledge?
I knelt next to her and hugged her hard instead. “Elena,” I started, “do you understand why Mr. Tomás is no longer at school?”
She nodded gravely. Right now, he’s busy being an angel.
I gasped. She obviously knew. Children always appear to know these things before grownups.
Elena kept sketching hearts throughout the next weeks; now, every one had a little “T” within. Occasionally, while coloring, she would softly mutter to herself as if she were divulging secrets to an invisible buddy. At other times, she would gaze out the window in sadness and say, “I hope T knows I still love him.”
On a Saturday morning, we made a joint decision to establish a garden. Elena wanted to carve a unique area for “T” while we drilled holes for sunflower seeds. We jointly set a little wooden plaque amid the flowers in memory of Mr. Tomás.
The garden prospered as time passed. Elena did likewise. She become increasingly inventive, more interested, and more assured. Whenever she found herself battling with something fresh, she would remark, “Mr. Tomás taught me that practice makes perfect.”
Looking back, I see that Mr. Tomás left behind more than simply recollections. His short stay taught us all a vital lesson: kindness has no expiry date. From even the tiniest deeds of charity, ripples may spread and affect people long after we are gone.
Should you ever question the significance of your deeds, let this narrative serve as a reminder that they most certainly do. A small act could brighten someone’s world or mend their heart.
So proceed. Sketch a heart. Say, “I love you.” Be someone’s “T.” In the great fabric of life, even the smallest threads create lovely designs.
Enjoyed this tale? Tell a buddy who requires a reminder today about it. Share it with a friend who could use a reminder today.
