Today, I want to take a moment to honor someone whose presence brightened the halls of a school, whose dedication shaped the days of students and staff alike, and whose warmth and professionalism touched everyone who knew her.

Though illness had taken her from the everyday rhythms of the school weeks ago, her passing still strikes deeply. For the teachers, the principal, and the students who were fortunate enough to know her, grief mixes with gratitude – grief for the loss and gratitude for the life and light she shared so freely.

The following poem, “The Empty Desk,” reflects on the absence she leaves behind, the memories that linger, and the enduring legacy of a heart devoted to service, kindness, and care.

           The Empty Desk

The office breathes in silence today
The computer is dark, screens cold,
The chair stands empty, as if holding its breath,
Waiting for footsteps that will never return.

A door away, the principal lingers,
Her heart struck hard,
Not long ago, she could have called across the hall,
Shared a word, a laugh, a plan…
Now only absence fills that space,
Heavy, unyielding, aching.

Even the staff room is hushed,
A quiet that presses on every shoulder,
Where chatter once flowed freely,
Now, only the memory of her presence speaks
In every paused motion, every empty chair.

The last time the teachers saw her,
She lay in a hospital bed,
Illness etched on her face,
Yet still, they smiled through the pain,
Holding hope in the midst of sorrow.
Even knowing her time might be near,
The news of her passing hits harder than words can hold.

And the students, oh, the students.
Her gentle greetings, her patient guidance,
The little moments she noticed,
The warmth that made each child feel seen,
They, too, will feel a hollow space today,
A presence that carried light through their daily steps,
Now gone from hallways and playgrounds alike.

In the classrooms, lessons go on,
But they stumble through invisible waves of grief.
Memories strike like sharp, unexpected kisses,
Filling the heart, blurring the mind,
And for a moment, the world feels smaller,
Too quiet, too raw, too aware of what is gone.

Pens lie still, papers untouched,
Every corner, a ghost of her presence,
Her smile lingering in the memory of hallways,
Her professionalism etched in every routine,
Now paused, fractured, impossible to reach.

The teachers move, but not untouched –
Each laugh is half-muffled by recollection,
Each step weighted with sorrow,
Every glance across the office is a reminder
That she was there, and now she is not.

Yet even in this absence,
Her life speaks:
Of care given quietly, of diligence remembered,
Of a presence that shaped days and steadied hearts,
Of children touched, encouraged, remembered.

The office may be empty,
The desk may wait,
But she leaves a mark no illness could erase,
A legacy of love, of service,
Of a heart that will not be forgotten.

And so, though tears fall freely today,
Her spirit lives on – in the laughter of children,
In the careful work of teachers,
In the steady guidance of the principal,
In every corner of the school, she made brighter.
Her life may have ended,
But her love continues – echoing, shaping, enduring,
A light that will never dim.

A Lasting Light

Even as the St. Martin Primary School’s family and her own family mourn, there is solace in remembering the ways she touched the lives around her. Every smile she shared, every task she carried out with care, and every student she encouraged these are the threads of her lasting legacy.

Grief may feel heavy, but it is also a testament to the love and respect she earned. In the silence of the office, in the empty chair, in the halls she once walked, her influence remains – quiet, steady, and enduring.

For the teachers, the principal, and the students, let this be a reminder: the impact of a dedicated heart does not end with a life but continues in the lives it shaped. Her memory can inspire, guide, and comfort, even in the days ahead.

Though her presence is gone, her light remains. And in that light, may those who grieve find peace.

Rest in peace, Selena Shillingford.