Tag: grief

Grief and Love–one story of surviving the loss

Featured by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings
A picture created by one of my former Kindergarten students depicting what they believed was their former classmate’s ascent into heaven. The rainbow is what the heavenly friend is sending back to the friend still who is still alive. (Post-it notes are covering names.)

A story revisited 🥺

It was a spring day with wide cerulean skies and clouds of cotton puffs as I stepped out of my vehicle, as per usual, when I saw the employee approaching with my curbside grocery order.  I am a regular customer, so I tend to know the names and faces of the usual employees, but she was new to me.  Therefore, I was surprised when she asked if I was a teacher. I smiled, and said that I was. I could have never predicted what she would next say.

As she talked, there it was.  The wound, which I thought had healed, was painfully stabbed open. It is an unfortunate story, centering on a young family, a classroom of five-year-olds, their parents, and me–bound together by a loss too surreal to be true– yet it was. 

 She said she attended the funeral and saw me, and she added that she related to the family. Additionally, she added that all her kids attended that same school in which I once taught, now nearly 20 years later. As what appeared to be an after-thought she added, “You was a good teacher.” 

I asked about the surviving family and the sibling, who was only a baby at the time of the event.  The sibling, she reported, was now studying at a university.  This bit of information buoyed my spirit.  

Another picture drawn by another student depicting their deceased friend, holding hands with God and Jesus.

An event that forever changed me 😨

With over three and half decades in education, I can look back at certain points in my career and identify pivotal moments that forever changed me.  This loss of a five-year-old student was probably one of the most defining moments in my career. It sent me spiraling into a deep darkness for which I believed I should keep hidden from the world because it was my face those cherished students and their parents looked to for strength and stability–or at least that is how I perceived the situation at the time.  

On the inside, I was crumbling, questioning everything my faith had taught me.  Angry at that the Universe would allow such a senseless death, and angry at myself for what felt like was my “butterfly-effect” that seemingly set the wheels in motion for this tragedy.  Emotions, which I now know, can override logic during unexpected loss.

Outwardly for the world, I did the best I could, but none of my training had prepared me. While there were times, I felt led from within by a Source greater than myself. Other times, I felt I was driving a car without headlights after a severe storm, stumbling and bumping up against one roadblock after another.  

Another drawing depicting a student holding hands with the deceased classmate, adding that they missed their friend. (Names are covered with post-it notes.)

Days of Mourning 😢

There were countless days when my students would just cry, and so I let them, allowing their tears to express what they could not put into words.  I hugged them often, and permitted/encouraged them to express their feelings in a safe and productive ways.  They drew pictures, decorated their former classmates’ seat, and took turns holding and talking to a bear that had been built for them to help process their grief.

Some students, who weren’t as verbal as others, became noticeably aggressive as they moved through stages of grief.  This required much patience and tolerance.  While I understood they needed to get out their anger as they were not developmentally old enough to understand death, I could not let them harm other students.  Therefore, I had to come up with creative outlets for their feelings, such as allowing them to be the official “wrecking ball” if someone wanted their block creation knocked over or the official “paper shredder” of messed-up papers.

A “story” written by a student describing what happened when the student took home the grief therapy bear.

Sometimes, Life isn’t fair 😩

Thinking back to that tragedy, I wish I could go back to my younger self and say, “You’re doing ok,” in the same way I would have said to my students at the time.  Instead, I spent much time questioning what more I should be doing.  And, each night, when I went home to my own beloved daughter the exact same age, I felt simultaneously grateful and guilty.  Why did I get to keep my child, but someone else didn’t?  It wasn’t fair.

Another student’s experience with the grief therapy bear.

Nearly 20 years later . . .⏳

Now, nearly 20 years later, life continues to march on at a breathtaking pace. Those students are now in their 25th year of life.  They are all, I hope, making their way into their independence, exploring the edges of the kind of responsible adult they want to evolve into.  I pray they will each find their own version of success, however they define it. 

I especially hope the child’s family is well.  They were dealt a tragic blow for which I have no explanation.  I am certain it has not been easy for them, but I pray their hearts continue to mend to the degree possible. Most of all, I wish them peace.

Another drawing of expressing their feelings about their departed friend. (Name is covered by post-it notes.)

Does time Really heal? ❤️‍🩹

They say time heals all wounds, but I am not sure.  The wounds may heal, but the scar still remains.  Like all scars, they fade with the passing of time, but those scars remain as a reminder of who we once were.

 Once there was a young family of four, until suddenly there were three.  Once I was a kindergarten teacher with 15 students, and, in the blink of an eye, there were 14.  I wish I knew why, but that is not for me to understand.  Instead, I will forever be haunted by what more I could have done. 

Another student’s experience with the grief therapy bear.

Looking back on the love 💜

Nonetheless, looking back now, what I most recall is the love.  Love for the departed student, love for the other students of that class, and deep abiding appreciation for those students’ parents who unconditionally supported me and guided their children tirelessly through what had to be one of the darkest periods in their young and tender lives.

Their is beauty in life, even if short lived 🌸

On the day of writing this, I went for a run in a park.  It was early spring, and the air held the promise of warmer days.  All around me the wind blew off the white petals of flowering trees, and the petals danced around me like snowflakes, graceful on the currents of air.  I realized, the flowers will soon be replaced by the green leaves, and the cycle of life will continue through the seasons.  However, in that moment, I could not help but feel those petals were a heavenly reminder of the beauty that is possible in life–even if for only a short time.

Musician and writer, Nick Cave, is said to have written in a letter, “Grief and love are forever intertwined. Grief is the terrible reminder of the depths of our love and, like love, grief is non-negotiable.”  I couldn’t agree more.  

Another piece of artwork expressing the joy of friendship in spite of the loss. (Names covered with post-it notes.)
Another student’s experience with the bear.

Prayer for Uvalde, Texas

by stephsimply, posted in Simple Observations and Musings

“There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.”–Aeschylus

Photo by Caleb Oquendo on Pexels.com

I walked through the strangely-quiet darkened hall, down the familiar stairwell, and exited under a leaden sky with light rain falling.  Students had left an hour or so earlier, and I was heading to a meeting regarding the next school year. Nonetheless, shouldn’t there be some magical feeling for the start of summer break?  Instead, all ranges of emotions churned within my gut. How could I feel celebratory when my heart was reeling from ANOTHER school shooting?  Meanwhile, the intensity of the rain increased . . .

Thinking back to the previous week’s events, I realize that powerful sentiments, including grief, were coming together like the confluence of several rivers vying for dominance as their waters merge.  35 years in education, and yet, all I could truly focus upon was the Uvalde community.  What hopes and dreams were savagely snatched forever–even from those who survived–while terror reigned supreme inside the school and confusion, disorganization, and unbelievable anguish surrounded the school?

What about the two Robb Elementary educators?  Between them, they had 40 years of teaching experience. Years of service to the community that were also brutally wrenched away.  They too had children, spouses, parents, and loved ones.  Their hopes and dreams were likewise vanquished.

Once more, a lone male–psychologically hurting–legally accessed weapons of war and played out his own private warfare on innocent victims.  While we can state the school was at fault for having a door open, as an educator, I know the reality of schools.  A door left open can happen (At the time of writing this, the report had not yet come out that, indeed, the teacher DID close the door, and the door’s lock malfunctioned).  However, an open door at a school, or any community building for that matter, should not be considered an implicit invitation to mortal combat.

I was teaching and pregnant with my daughter when the Columbine shooting occurred.  John, my husband, who is also an educator, and I sat in our modest house, silent tears streaming down our faces as we watched the news story unfold.  How could that happen?  Little did we know we were bearing witness to the start of what would become a terrifying trend in education. 23 years later, names of schools, nowhere near me geographically speaking, are as familiar as names of past students–Red Lake Senior High School, Virginia Tech, Sandy Hook Elementary School, and Stoneman Douglas High School; and the list continues.  Countless schools with families and communities forever changed and affected.

Several years after Columbine, I was teaching Kindergarten, and it was the first time for the school to practice an “Active Shooter Response Drill.”  Given the fact that I had advance notice, I talked with my young students about the notion of “bad guys” and how the school had to practice what to do if a bad guy came to school– just like they practiced what to do in case of a fire.   

Per procedure, the coded announcement came over the intercom, and I quickly ran to lock my classroom door and instructed my students to hide and cover as we had previously practiced.  A well-meaning sheriff deputy repeatedly knocked on my classroom door stating things in an attempt to trick me to unlock the door.  One student began to softly cry, followed by another, and another as I crept from one student to another trying to allay their fears and reassure them that this was pretend.  Nonetheless, they were scared.

I share that memory to say, if those few moments of hiding in a darkened classroom evoked such a fear response in my former students, what terrors were experienced by those blameless children trapped in Robb Elementary School?  What conflicting emotions must the teachers and staff members have experienced as they tried to keep their students safe and calm, while thinking about their own families, and watching one of their very own Uvalde youth massacre beloved students and colleagues? 

Children are a sacred part of society, and the schools they attend are the heart of the community. When children and educators are in school, they should be active participants in learning, engagement, and educational problem-solving, rather than passive participants in a disturbed soul’s personal anger campaign. Parents, children, and educators should have the peace of mind that the school is valued, supported, and always protected by community leaders, policy makers, and societal structures, including local law enforcement 

I am sickened by the politicians, community leaders, and even some journalists, who use the Uvalde event as an opportunity to point fingers, grow their audience, and puff up themselves with haughty righteousness.  Their pandering, grandstanding, and virtue signaling are NOT solving the problem–which is multifaceted and requires multiple types of community interventions.  To them I say, get off your soap box, get into communities and listen–I mean really listen with both ears–and then, work for real solutions rather than sound bites.  Endeavor to genuinely serve your community, instead of posturing for cameras looking for the next crisis-opportunity for which you can preen and pose.

I end where I began this piece. Summer is starting, and schools have, or will soon be, dismissed for another academic year. Meanwhile, the blood of more children and more educators weaves and seeps into the soil and rubble of another school.  There will be no more summers for them.  No more new beginnings.

I once wrote about the importance of threading a needle when sewing. All the fibers of the thread must be concentrated and twisted together to go through the eye of the needle.  Like the fibers of thread, it is easy for one fiber to get distracted, and when that happens, the thread will not go through.  Once more, we, as a nation, are being asked to go through the eye of the needle.  This is an opportunity to bind the ties that connect us–schools, children, communities–and sew together the common ground on both sides of the aisle.  Can we avoid distractions, remain tightly focused, and come together in order to thread this needle?  The silenced victims of the Uvalde classrooms beg us to do that.

Photo by Robin McPherson on Pexels.com