Today is my husband’s birthday. We feel a special level of celebration.
Last year, at this time, we were well into the murky routines of cancer treatment. Weekly chemo and daily radiation treatments were the main focus, not to mention bandage changes and feeding schedules. And as we followed the rigors of these routines we had no idea what the outcome would be. But there was always hope; there had to be hope. And faith; lots of faith and prayers. And love; more love than we ever realized we had for each other and from our friends and family.
When going through a major challenge, health or otherwise, it is hard in the beginning to fathom what lies ahead. At times it felt we were moving along in a terrible dream, always wondering what lay ahead. Always overshadowed by the reality of the dark illness that waited in the wings. Often feeling the fear of the unknown, yet wanting to keep moving ahead, believing that the treatments would work, having faith that the doctors were being guided in answer to the hundreds of prayers that we were told had been given up for us.
And so today, we celebrated. A birthday, yes. But also finding the end of the dark journey. Celebrating this day meant we were celebrating the amazing doctors, nurses, technicians, and the many other outstanding health care professionals that were involved in my husband’s care. We were celebrating our supportive family and friends. We were celebrating each other.
Today we celebrated. But mostly, we celebrated – life.
The question, now, comes all too frequently. “When are you retiring?” they ask. Is it my grey hair? Is it a sign of retirement. If they stopped dying their hair, would they get the same question? Did I just write that?
It is a question that I can’t and won’t answer. Because I don’t know. I am able to retire. My age and years of service have reached the required guidelines. I could easily notify the powers that be, come April.
But I still love being with kids. I still love watching kids that thought they couldn’t, find that they can. I love seeing interest spark in a student that believed the subject would be boring or learning something new about an area he or she thought they knew all there is to know.
And I still love the challenge of learning something new myself, to take back and tryout with my classes. To try it with the first, and retry with the second. Mixing and folding, kneading and rolling. Watching a lesson take shape and come to fruition through my students.
Until I lose that wonder, that enjoyment. The concocting like a chef in a five star kichen, I will continue on.
Here I sit, having just awoken from a snooze during a movie. I realize, suddenly, as I look at the clock that I have seven minutes to write and post for the March SOL!
Of course, my mind races as I try to think of my topic. What do I tell my students? Go to your journal pages and look at your writing ideas…but I have none of those resources at my fingertips. Only my computer is nearby and my racing mind as I try to think of what to write with time ticking away.
This is not the entry I would choose to write about today, but here it is, my writing friends. I apologize and will do better tomorrow.
Wait…that’s in four minutes! I better get this posted!
It’s time. Time to move past the dreary fog of the past year. To push ahead. No more excuses. “Get off your derriere,” as my mother would say. Looking at the image in the mirror, I like what I see but not the wrapping its in. “You can do it!” I tell myself.
Passing the sign everyday. GYM. Get yourself moving! It’s time.
Four mile runs? Wow! What happened? My inner self tells me it’s still possible. My outer self groans with the movement of each tree trunk as I drag them down towards the first .10 mile. Wow! What happened? “You can do it!” I remind myself.
Slowing to a fast paced walk, I am resigned to the reality of starting over. But…I will do it!
I’ve been purging.
Unworn and I’ll-fitting togs. Tops and bottoms purchased for the image that was, and the hope of what could be. Socks that long ago lost their mates. Once part of a whole now relegated to the back of the drawer hoping for return of its mate.
And the boots and shoes. Do I dare mention the boots and shoes?
Instruction manuals and cords. Saved for equipment that long ago stopped working. Well-intentioned ideas pulled from magazines stashed away in the hopes that time would be found within busy days and too short nights.
Garage sale finds that never should have been found. Gifts whose usefulness never came to be.
Papers collected from meetings. Ideas collected from the image of what was, and the thought of what might be.
Resources books that long ago lost their appeal or usefulness. Relegated to the cabinet shelf in hopes that one day they might return, full circle and once again be the “next great idea.”
Trinkets of students past of whose names were once memorized, now forgotten. Lining the shelf, hidden in cabinets, tucked away in closets. Given with love or perhaps guilt, saved just in case. Just in case they might return and remember. Saved just because. Just because they were given. With love. They are tucked away, hidden once again in cabinets.
They escape the purge.
Watching The Post tonight, I was reminded of the importance of our first amendment rights and protecting the rights of the press to freely report true, unbiased information to the “governed not the governors.”
As a teacher, this same freedom must be protected, but it is also our responsibility to share information that is true and unbiased as well. This is hard to do but important. The danger of doing so may also sometimes conflict with parents’ truths.
As the world becomes more diverse, those whose views are less open may push back, building walls, closing doors. But shutting out what we don’t or refuse to understand acts as a censor to the realities of life.
As a teacher of a diverse population it is my belief that it is my duty to share the diversity of my students with that of the world. Doing so means giving opportunities for them through the printed word. My class library shares books that match the makeup of my students and others different from them in culture, race, ethnicity, gender, and ideas. It is their’s to explore and hopefully learn from. All through the printed word. All because of our first amendment rights.
I recently wrote about taking a chance and jumping in feet first to give my students an opportunity to create newscasts for the final assessment of our unit on the Amazon rain forest. I was nervous and hesitant to let them go, not having much experience with iMovie.
They were ecstatic to have the chance to do something different and had no qualms about using iPads and iPhones to record skits that they wrote and created, costumes and all!
After days of taping, editing, adding backgrounds, and finalizing, their newscasts are done.
Tomorrow is a half day before we begin our spring break. We will spend the first hour sharing each group’s newscast. I am excited for them to share their videos. No matter the outcomes, they all learned something new, as did I, right along with them.
What started as a scary experience for me – relinquishing some control is difficult- became one of the best experiences I have had with my students. I’m so glad I took the plunge!
And that’s a wrap!
It is late and I am tired. So, tonight I will just make a list of favorites and maybe one of them will spur a memory that I can use another day.
freshly cut grass
Continue reading “Favorites”
I enter, unannounced and unwelcome.
I do not belong here.
I hide where no one can see me
doing damage and altering the surrounding environment.
Days. Weeks. Months pass as I continue my work unnoticed by the outside world.
How long do I have?
I work feverishly, stealthily building my strength as I steal it from my surroundings.
One day they will find me.
My days might be numbered.
In the meantime, I keep stealing, keep damaging, keep growing my strength.
Just in case.
I am cancer.
I just saw the newsclip of Pope Francis and the little girl who grabbed his zucchetto from his head as he leaned over to give her a kiss. What a precious moment between a humble man of great power and a little girl being-well-a little girl.
I’m sure her father, who moved her towards the pope for a smooch was beside himself. But Pope Francis handled it with humor and grace.
What a wonderful moment!