Twelve years ago, I wrote about a little girl I once knew. This year, I am sharing her story with my students. I have edited the original column to reflect my current situation.
At our school, we have a program called Prayer Partners. Older classes are paired with younger ones. The children meet for reading, writing, and art activities, and they sit together at our monthly school Masses. When I was in elementary school, we had a similar program simply called Buddies, and in my Grade 5 year my younger buddy was named Nicole.
Nicole was a kindergarten student with bright blue eyes and a mass of blonde curls. She was articulate beyond her years and could easily carry a conversation with older students such as me. She was as cute as a button!
Because of the time we spent together during our buddy activities, Nicole felt comfortable with me and would often seek me out during recess. She loved to be included in our “older” games, and she especially loved learning to play hopscotch.
Being younger than my classmates, Nicole wasn’t as coordinated at hopscotch as almost-ten-year-olds are. She was slow and she asked a lot of questions. I liked her and, being an oldest child with no little sisters, I really didn’t mind having a younger girl in tow.
One of my friends was not on the same page. She had two younger sisters and in her mind recess was a chance to finally be with her own age group. One day she gave me an ultimatum: I had to choose between playing alone with her for one recess – and having her stop playing with me at all.
This was my introduction to what it’s like to be in the middle of situations, a predicament I have faced often since. I must shamefully admit that, rather than following my instincts and preferences, that day I allowed peer pressure to prevail and told Nicole that I’d have to play with her another time.
Etched in my memory are the look of disappointment on her face and the heaviness in my heart as she walked away. She wore a hooded winter jacket and brand-new tights, the crease from their packaging still visible on the backs of her tiny little legs. “I’ll make it up to her later,” I told myself and played hopscotch, without the usual enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, that was my last opportunity to play with Nicole. I saw her at our Remembrance Day assembly, as I handed her a poppy at the door. Sadly, over the weekend, Nicole became sick with a stomach flu and died after aspirating her vomit. She had just turned five years old.
I’ll never forget the sadness of the days to follow. I read and reread the principal’s note about her death so often that I’m sure I could recite it still. The entire school community attended the funeral Mass. It was the first funeral I had attended, and I sat beside my teacher, crying through its entirety.
I remember seeing Nicole’s mother and desperately wishing I could help her. Now that I’m a mother myself, I can’t even imagine her loss.
Once Nicole’s physical absence had become the new normal around the school grounds, profound guilt set in. Why hadn’t I let her play with me that day? Why had I allowed someone else to pressure me into excluding another person? To this day, I continue to ask myself these questions.
Although I made a mistake that November day long ago, the experience has given me the courage to follow my instincts and put the feelings of others over popular opinion on many occasions since. I now encourage my students to do what they know is right, even when others try to tell them otherwise. I also tell them not to put something – or someone – off, because we never know what lies ahead.
I only knew Nicole for a little more than two months in 1978, but she has affected my life for more than 44 years.
I once had a prayer partner; in fact, I still do. I continue to remember Saint Nicole in my prayers, and I know without a doubt that she continues to pray for me.
