New 70

My daughter continued to carry an extremely heavy backpack to school; I realized why when I finally met the bus driver

Juliet, a single mother, loves raising her nine-year-old daughter, River, alone. River pushes her to be better. But after a while, Juliet begins to notice a fierce independence taking over River: she wants more responsibility and autonomy. But then Juliet discovers a secret that comes with River’s backpack and a hidden friend comes to light.

Life as a single mother in the suburbs is a tightrope walk between joy, coffee and juggling acts. I’m Juliet, a financial advisor striving to build a career strong enough to ensure a bright future for my nine-year-old daughter, River.

A mother and her daughter on a dirt road | Source: Unsplash

River, as carefree and fluid as her name, is my greatest pride and joy, and the greatest blessing I could have ever asked for. Ever since my husband abandoned us and fled to a new state when River was just a toddler, the brunt of parenting has fallen solely on my shoulders.

“At least this way,” my mother said, feeding River, “you don’t have to worry about your daughter learning about Richard’s lies and tricks. She is all yours and you can mold her however you want.”

A grandmother carrying her granddaughter | Source: Unsplash

And that was the best part: my relationship with River’s father had been strained because his eyes were always on other women. When he left, I felt a sense of relief.

My daughter would be all mine. And she could teach him how to navigate a world with deceitful men around every corner.

A man walking away with a suitcase | Source: Unsplash

Between my mother helping us when we needed her and daycare, River grew quickly and her independence blossomed as she navigated her school days.

But our weekends were sacred mother-daughter times, where my daughter would tell me all kinds of stories about her friends at school, what snacks she still liked, and what flavors she had outgrown.

We watched movies, ate popcorn, and spent hours solving puzzles.

Those were the moments I loved the most.

A bowl of popcorn | Source: Unsplash

A few weeks ago, we were sitting at dinner together and River started telling me all about the latest news at school. Her eyes lighting up with excitement, River mentioned a new bus driver she liked and a kind music teacher who taught them how to play the drums.

“Those are very precise notes, Mom,” he said seriously. “It’s not just about playing drums and making sounds.”

I wanted to laugh at his tone.

A wooden drum | Source: Unsplash

“Right,” I agreed. “Otherwise, it would just be noise, right?”

“Yeah!” he said, drinking the juice from it.

Then River went into a whole explanation about extracurricular clubs and felt he should join.

“Okay,” I said, pleased by his growing interest in school activities. “What are you thinking? Drama? Art?”

Children walking with backpacks | Source: Unsplash

River sat and thought about it for a minute, picking at his broccoli.

“I think the art club,” he said.

“Tomorrow we will go out and buy art supplies,” I promised.

“I’m so excited about this!” The river gushed.

I couldn’t hide my relief that River had something constructive to occupy his time while I was still at work.

A plate of orange chicken and broccoli | Source: Unsplash

The next morning, River and I went to get the art supplies I needed. At first, River took a few things and then began to double the supplies. He didn’t want to ask her anything; River radiated a sense of joy and he didn’t want to burst his bubble.

A craft store | Source: Unsplash

Then, we went to look for new clothes for River; She had outgrown her clothes like crazy. And again, she went ahead and got duplicates of the clothes too.

But again, I didn’t want to burst his bubble.

A coat rack with children’s clothes | Source: Unsplash

One morning, River, brimming with new responsibility, declared that he wanted to prepare his own lunches to encourage his independence.

She was standing at the counter ordering River’s breakfast of cereal and juice as she began her lunch for the day.

“Mom, I think I should start making my own lunches,” she stated firmly, watching me add her things to her sandwich.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich | Source: Unsplash

“That’s a great idea, River. “I’m so proud of you for taking this step,” I told her, encouraging her to be self-sufficient. “But you’ll have to ask me for help when it comes to knives.”

Our routine continued like clockwork. We had breakfast together and I walked River to the front of our yard, where the yellow school bus picked her up.

But a few days ago something changed.

A yellow school bus | Source: Unsplash

When we arrived at the bench my father had set up in our yard, I asked River to put her backpack down so I could help her put on her jacket.

Moments later, as he closed his jacket, he winced slightly when I tapped him on the back.

“What happen?” I asked immediately.

River shrugged and dismissed it as the weight of her school books causing her discomfort, but the mother in me stirred in concern. River covered his face.

A girl covering her face | Source: Unsplash

“Are you sure you’re okay? “It looked like it hurt,” I probed, concern in my tone.

“It’s just the books, Mom,” my nine-year-old son said. “They have been very heavy this week,” he downplayed it, avoiding my gaze.

“Do you want me to take you to school then?” I asked him as I looked at my watch to see the time.

“No, thank you,” River said, as the bus honked as it turned the corner.

A red backpack on the ground | Source: Unsplash

That night, while making pasta for dinner, I asked River about his back.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked her.

She nodded and placed the cutlery on the table for us.

“I went to the nurse and she applied some ointment,” River said.

A person holding a plate of pasta | Source: Unsplash

The next day, his backpack felt unusually heavy, loaded with more than just textbooks. But River’s vehement refusal to continue discussing the matter raised my alarm.

“Why is it so heavy, River?” I asked her. “What is all this?”

“It’s just school stuff, Mom. Really, it’s okay,” she responded sharply, an unusual tone in her voice.

Out of concern and curiosity, I got to my office and called the school.

A woman on a phone call | Source: Pexels

“No, Juliet,” said the secretary. “We don’t allow children to take textbooks home because they are so heavy. So, they only use them at school.”

So what did River bring to school?

I decided to leave work early. He wanted to pick River up and talk to her about what was going on.

A woman driving a car | Source: Unsplash

River was a responsible girl and I knew she wouldn’t do anything wrong. But if she was hurting herself in some way, she needed to understand why and what was happening to her.

I parked next to a school bus and waited to see River run out.

But of course, River didn’t know he was going to pick her up, so when she left class, she headed straight to the bus. I followed her to the school bus on our route and heard a snippet of the conversation between River and the bus driver.

A parked school bus | Source: Unsplash

“Did you like everything?” River asked the driver.

“She loved him!” said the driver. “Are you sure it’s okay for you to bring things for me Rebecca?”

“Yes,” River said. “As long as Rebecca is happy.”

Who is Rebecca? I asked myself.

“River!” I called out as other students began to board the bus.

“Mother!” she exclaimed when he saw me. “What are you doing here?”

“I left work early,” I told him, ready to carry on my shoulders the immovable rock that had been his backpack, which was now suddenly light as air.

A woman holding her face | Source: Unsplash

“Honey, where are all your things?” I asked.

River hesitated as we walked to the car.

“I’ll tell you at home,” he said.

I drove us home in silence, often glancing at River sitting in the back seat. She was looking out the window and he knew her little mind was racing.

A woman driving a car | Source: Pexels

We got home, and just as we walked in, River’s small body shook as tears began to flow.

“Mommy,” he said.

Taking his hands in mine, I knelt down to his level.

“Tell me what’s going on. You can tell me anything, River. And you can trust me,” she encouraged, trying to calm her anguish.

Through tears, River told me everything.

A girl crying | Source: Pexels

The new bus driver she quickly became friends with had a daughter battling leukemia.

“I saw his picture next to the steering wheel, Mom,” River said. “Mister. Williams makes me sit in the seat behind him because I’m too small. “So when I saw the photo I asked him who the girl was.”

I sat back and let River continue. She needed to let the story out and feel seen and heard.

“Mister. Williams said that Rebecca is only two years younger than me and that she hasn’t been to school at all. Because she is trapped in the hospital.”

A sick girl in the hospital | Source: Unsplash

I nodded.

“So when we got art supplies for school, I grabbed two of everything so I could make a package for Rebecca too. And even the clothes, because she said that in the hospital she is very cold.”

“Have you talked to Rebecca?” I asked.

“Yes,” River said, tears streaming down her face again. “Mister. Williams has been taking me. “I don’t go to any after-school clubs.”

River caught his breath and held it until I spoke.

“Oh, honey,” I said. “You should tell me.”

A mother hugging her daughter | Source: Pexels

I was moved by River’s story and the fact that his heart had such a large capacity, holding love and care for a girl he had recently met.

“Mister. Williams is very kind, Mom,” she said, sobbing and reaching for a tissue. “Rebecca needs these things more than I do.”

Listening to River explain his secret missions of kindness, I was torn between admiration and fear for his safety. We arranged to meet Mr. Williams at the hospital later that night.

And upon meeting him, his sincerity and gratitude erased my fears.

A smiling man with his arms crossed | Source: Pexels

“Thank you for allowing and supporting River in this,” Mr. Williams thanked me, assuming that I had been aware of River’s actions.

“Your daughter is wonderful, Julieta,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. “I would love to do more.”

Mr. Williams smiled at me and led us down a hallway to Rebecca’s room.

The rest of the day was spent laughing and sharing stories while River and Rebecca played in the hospital room, their joy echoing off the walls. As I watched them, I realized that my daughter had taught me a valuable lesson in compassion, a lesson that I would cherish and cherish as she continued to grow.