Disappearing Road

Gloomy day, feeling a bit bluesy, decided to color a picture and write a poem. Creativity should help, right?

The balancing act continues

Between getting things done and self-care.

Last night I dreamt of former students

Saw faces and some talked to me

I woke and for the first time I said

I miss teaching

But I mostly miss the relationships

And watching them grow

And accepting all they had to give.

This picture of the winding road through the trees

Feels appropriate for me right now

I can only see a few days ahead

My mood fluctuates, my grief changes

Cathartic moments erupt and waylay my plans

I know it’s okay

It’s going over the edge where the road disappears.

Off in the distance there are mountains

Something solid and real

For now, I rest on the road of trees

Take with gratitude all I do have

Shelter. Food. Friends. Faith.

That Part of Me

While reading a novel yesterday,

the book The Year of Magical Thinking

by Joan Didion was mentioned.

I knew that she wrote it about the year after her husband died,

and even though it was published in 2005,

and I had avoided it until 2022, when I faced my fear

and read it.

There was a singular part

that stood out to me

when I read the memoir,

and I needed it yesterday.

See, I’ve been feeling off balance and unable to determine why.

But now I know.

The part of me reflected in Jim’s eyes

is gone.

It can’t be otherwise.

It’s what we lose and have to repair when someone dies.

I’m finding it difficult to lose the anxiety on this.

I looked up the review I wrote on Good Reads,

and just as I suspected

I had documented the part that mattered most.

That spoke the loudest.

As it does today.

I have to allow the mourning is not just for Jim,

but for who I was in his presence.

My anxiety is that I am not sure who I am without him. 

I am hoping that knowing this will help me move forward

without looking for something that is no longer there.

Another Sunrise

Yesterday I faced some real truth

That I may not be able to stay in this home indefinitely

It is too costly and I will need to let it go

Sooner than I anticipated.

When I woke today I heard you say

It will be all right, It will be all right, It will be all right.

I got up, wrapped myself in your suede jacket

Sat on the lanai on this cool morning

And watched the peach sunrise

Rejoicing in the love we shared

As I watched the light change in the sky

And on the water

And I knew for certain

It will be all right.

Like a Rainbow in the Desert

 Journal entry

Even when the loss of a loved one comes after a long illness…we must step over into a new country. The colors are different, the air has a different feel, and the sounds have a different echo than they did before…And we learn the colors and sounds of this new world, and after a while it becomes our world.

From Healing After Loss

I am feeling this. For a while, I kept seeing this place as “our home,“ but slowly that has changed. It is now feeling like “my home.” My first step in this was putting away the toaster that only Jim used, and then I changed up the sideboard. There is more to do.

My morning pace is much the same, but my days are quite different.

Kara sent me a card and wrote a gorgeous message in it. She said:

Jim is always with you and your heart, cheering you on from up above. I know he’s proud of you and still loving you with the essence of his being.

To this, I say yes yes yes!

Much of what I feel now is what I felt when I got divorced – – feeling my way through, figuring things out, making the evening mine and in a way that feeds me. And at that time, I had a solid grip on who I was becoming, and had entered the adventure willingly.

Although I didn’t enter this part of my life willingly, I knew it was coming, so all I can do is embrace it. The alternative is just too glum to think about. I can pace things out in a way that works for me.

So I set small goals for the week, and I break those up into the days. Little by little everything that needs to get done gets done. I really have nothing but time at this point.

Today I came across the coloring page that I posted above, and that motivated the title of this blog post. I recognize this place as Monument Valley, a place Jim and I visited in 1986. What we saw there was a dust storm, but also a lot of beauty. I have entered a new country, but there is always a rainbow above me and as I’ve said before, I have mighty helpers surrounding me. I don’t take any of this for granted. And I know that my strength comes from everything that Jim gave me starting over 40 years ago. I couldn’t be more thankful.

Jim in Monument Valley with dust devils in distance 

Many movies made here. Wagon is from a John Wayne film.

Where You Are

 

Yesterday we had a celebration of Jim’s life, and I could not be happier with how things went. The turnout was great, and it was wonderful to have my incredible support system all together in one room.

In the morning I was working on finalizing the slideshow I planned to use. Family members and friends from out of state had sent their memories, and I had them on the slides ready to share. I had my teacher friends each assigned to read one of them, and it worked beautifully.

Anyway, while working on it and listening to a station on Apple Music, a song sung by Josh Grobin came on: “Where You Are.”  The lyrics hit me so hard I began to cry. And in that moment, I felt Jim behind me and he wrapped his arms around me, much like the photo above. It was such a calming presence, I stopped sobbing. I knew he was there more intensely than anytime since he’s passed. I realized later I had heard the song before, it’s been around for a while. But yesterday it was brand new and played just so I could connect with Jim in a profound way.

I told my friend Kara about it, and she insisted Jim sent me the song. I tend to agree with her. Because now when I listen (and cry) I immediately feel his arms around me. It is a beautiful gift I will cherish for a long time to come.

Saints and Souls

Doug, Dan, and Jim  (RIP all)

Favorite picture of Jim

Today was a combination All Saints and All Souls Day at church. We were told we could bring in a photograph in a frame to display on a table during the service. We were also allowed to send in a picture digitally for a slideshow. I did both.

The picture of Jim with his brother and youngest son is from 2003 at our old apartment building. It was the perfect picture to display because sadly, all three of these men have passed within the last few years. 

The picture of Jim in the woods I send for the slideshow. It has risen to the place of honor as my favorite photo of him. When we would visit the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina, he would take his coffee in the morning and go sit in the woods. One day, I think in 1999, I decided to take my camera and go find him. The look you see is his surprise at seeing me show up in his hiding spot. I saw him before he saw me, and that is why I had my camera ready for the photo when he looked my way.

There was one prayer today during the service that was especially meaningful. I was reminder that our loved ones on the other side are never far from us. They come to us as we go to them. Its a reciprocal relationship.

*

Today I changed where I had been sitting, and chose to sit by a woman that lives in my neighborhood. After the service, I had a brownie and some iced tea and talked to some people. On my way out, a woman named Trish stopped me. She is a member of the grief group, but hadn't been there the day I went. She lost her husband a year and a half ago. We had a good conversation, and then she pulled out this book and handed it to me:

She said she was looking for someone else she was going to give it to, but that woman wasn't there. After our conversation, she knew the book was meant for me instead. I was touched by her kindness and generosity and insight. This is a book with a reading for each day of the year, so I went home and read today's passage. It quoted from Charlotte's Web. I liked that right away, because I don't always just want to be reading Bible quotes. I think I'm going to love reading this book each day, and I have another new friend. I cannot say enough how supported I feel by this church community.

I will leave you with the final words from today's passage:

We never stop loving the one who is gone, and we will help our own healing and enhance the lives of others if, in some way, we open our arms to someone in need. I know I have love to share. I will be on the lookout.

Welcome Back

 

I had a lot of pent-up nervous energy this morning

And the temperature outside was a beautiful 73°

So I thought it was a perfect time to go out and walk in the park

Which I haven’t done since last spring

So I drove down to Waka-hatchee, which is the closest park to me

There was barely anybody there

I felt the park welcoming me back

I took a stroll around the lake

Took this picture of the sun shining through the Spanish moss

Saw a big old gator

My nervous energy had come from a week with a lot of emotional happenings

Yesterday was a case in point

I went to the funeral home to get the death certificates

And I asked about Jim’s ashes

They were ready for me, so I got them

But I was not prepared for what was going to occur

I burst out crying right there

Seeing the last physical manifestation of my husband

Was a bit overwhelming

I didn’t expect that to happen at all

I managed to get a grip and do the other things I had to do

Which included stopping in the HR department at the School District

Yesterday being my first official day of retirement

When I pulled my car into the garage

I told Jim “You’re finally home”

Then I cried and cried and cried

It’s been nearly 17 weeks since he left here

I had no idea his ashes would feel this important to me

I’ve ordered rosewood box to keep them in

I always thought maybe I’d scatter them 

but now I know I won’t

They belong here

Welcome home, my Love

Friday Afternoon Think Aloud

This week, my spirits have been very good. It isn’t that I haven’t cried – – I’ve done plenty of that.

I’m sleeping well, taking care of myself, eating well, healing well, reading a lot, and getting a ton of things done.

When things go awry, I’m finding I don’t get stressed and anxious like I did even just a couple weeks ago. I don’t overblow things in my head like I think I have for a long time. I have a renewed sense of “everything will work out.”

The images of Jim being ill seem to be minimizing. In retrospect, it has become clear to me that ever since his stroke in 2020 it was a long downhill slide that just got worse and worse. This was confirmed to me when I went through this giant stack of papers he had on his side of the bedroom. As I went back through the stack, I saw that the oldest ones were from 2020. That stroke probably did more damage than we realized.

So this afternoon, I started thinking about what the difference is now. Sometimes I wonder why I’m not feeling worse. I’m in grief. I have a million things to do, tons of stuff to figure out, and things I’ve taken on that I need to follow through on. Why am I not as stressed as I have been for so long?

And then I realized something very important. The major difference between now and before Jim made his transition is that I had to keep seeing him getting worse, in pain, uncomfortable.. I can see now what a huge stress that was on me. There was a lot of fear associated with it that never went away. And as things kept sliding downhill, and then I got ill, damn, it was just so much.

The other night I watched the Townhall CNN did with Kamala Harris. And there was a part late in the session where she was asked about her proposal to have Medicare pay for Home Healthcare (something I know is needed—it’s a huge issue). She talked poignantly about how when someone you love is sick and they pass away, you want to remember them when they were vibrant and alive, and not like they were at the end. 

It hit me in that moment how much I kept thinking about Jim the way he was these past few months. This last year, really. This was not pleasant, and the images kept popping up and making me sad. Understanding this has helped a lot. So now I’m doing my best just to remember him before the 2020s. It feels so long ago because, well, it was!

I feel I’m doing all the right things, and I believe everything will get done in time. As Annmarie pointed out to me recently, that’s all I can do. The next right thing.

Singing with the Elvis mic at Sun Studios 2014

Taking Care of Myself

I’m tired today!

The last two days I’ve expended a ton of energy on details. I met with our estate attorney and  I spent a ton of time canceling Jim’s credit cards and changing billing information on a several websites. I filled out paperwork and, in general, I felt pretty accomplished.

It has caught up to me today. I’m fried.

When I get up the first thing I do is read a chapter in the grief book a friend gave me. Today it was on taking care of myself.

That is my aim today.

1. I have 3 phone calls to make.

2. I have a dentist appointment.

3. I will make myself a nice dinner.

In between, I will rest and read. This is my commitment to my grieving self.

Everything that needs to get done will get done.

Today won’t be that day.

Up-n-Down

My friend Becky told me that it would take two weeks before she would really grieve when her parents passed away. I’m coming up on two weeks and I’m starting to notice a difference in myself.

For a while, I’ve just been caught up in nice memories of Jim and our life together. I’ve been taking care of things and seeing friends and rejoining a church. All good.

But today, for some reason, it’s been a bit up-and-down. I’m starting to remember more traumatic things from the past several months. For example, my car accident. I really have not thought a whole lot about it in quite some time, but today things were starting to pop up.

I know it’s trauma. I know there’s a lot of healing to be done. I’m doing my very, very best to take care of myself.

And I have help. A little while ago, I received a booklet from the leader of the Lectio Divina prayer group I attended on Monday. She included a very nice letter with it. The booklet is called A Time to Grieve, and I already read a little bit of it, and it has very comforting words. I do need to say that when I received the book and the letter, I cried and cried and cried. And I think I really needed to do that.

*

All that aside for now, I do want to say that I took a big step today. Actually maybe two big steps. I decided it was time for a trip to Costco and on my way there took the overpass from Gladiolus Drive to Summerlin Road. That is something that I had been avoiding ever since my accident, because sometimes it’s hard to merge there and one time somebody nearly ran me off the road refusing to let me in. I always get a little nervous going there. But it was absolutely fine today. There was nobody I had to merge with. 

And then, as I was approaching Costco, a song came on the radio that just seem to have the perfect words. This song came out right at the end of my freshman year of high school and I loved it from the first time I heard it. These words telling me that things will get easier, and even being referred to as a child, just felt so perfect today. I have added this song to my special playlist that I listen to many mornings. Hopefully you know this song, and can sing along, keeping me in mind as you do. I appreciate it 🌻

Lectio Divina #1

 On Sunday I returned to a church I haven’t been to in 20 years.

It felt great to be back.

There are many reasons I knew I needed to find a faith community again. And Iona-Hope Episcopal is the perfect place. It has grown in amazing ways since I was last there.

I have been keeping an eye on them for years. I have been visiting the labyrinth they installed about five years ago. When I knew I needed something to anchor my life, now that my husband and career are gone, I checked out the many activities they have. I will be attending a grief group called Moving On this Thursday. I also want to join their book club.

Yesterday afternoon, I joined the Lectio Divina group. It is a contemplative way to study scripture. Here is the reading we did. We start by considering a word or phrase, and keep reading it three more times for deeper understanding. Writing and art are encouraged.  

After the process, this is what I wrote:

In God, I have all I need

In God, I can be sad, but not shattered

In God, my world is good

In God, I praise all of nature and its cycles, including life and death

In God, I have gratitude for all that came before, all that is here now, and all that will be

In God, I have an anchor at all times

In God, I open my heart to peace and know it

When I  wonder “How exactly do I do this?”

The answer is always 

through the grace and wholeness of who God created me to be

Brighter and Lighter

 Journal entry

I saw this meme from Adam Grant and I realize that’s exactly where I am.

 I've worked really hard to stay in the present moment because it was too difficult to envision a bright future knowing Jim was terminally ill. Which reminds me of what I heard earlier this year – – that all love affairs come to a bad end. The couple either breaks up or one of them dies. 

Now that I know Jim is out of pain, I can look to the future in a new way. I will keep working on my healing, make new connections, do some things I have not been able to do.

I’m not a caretaker anymore. Wow – – first time I’ve said those words.

I have a gazillion things ahead of me to do, and it will take a long time.

I still have burdens – – but I know they will lighten.

I take everything Jim gave me and carry it into a brighter future.

2024 has been beyond challenging. Yet, I saw such goodness and generosity and care coming our way every day. We were given exactly what we needed in each moment, even those weeks we were separated. The world is full of amazing human beings, who are capable of caring, listening, reaching out, going the extra mile for us. It’s really astounding to look back and realize all those wonderful people who helped us. I’m talking about nurses and hospital staff and chaplains and social workers and hospice. 

I enter this phase with new vision and understanding. I carry with me the inspiration of all those people who helped us. I want to be one of those people for others.

I will find my place. And it will be exactly where I need to be.

Signs of a Life

 I didn’t even notice them anymore, the things Jim always had in certain places. Over these past months, they were just part of the landscape of my home.

Then yesterday, these items jumped out. After years and years of them being staged in the same place, it felt weird to suddenly “notice them.” 

I realize that there are many things I can dispose of—like his large supply of prescription drugs. Adios!

But these items are going to remain where they are. They were his daily items, the mark of his life, and I’m not willing to let go yet.

His coffee mug next to the brewer

His pill cases in his sink

His slippers at the foot of our bed

Now I Know

 My heart feels lighter today.

Two days ago, I talked to one of the hospice services in our area. I was pretty much told that I needed to bring my husband home and figure out how to care for him.

I was an agony. I am still in recovery from a horrible infection I had, and he is totally dependent. I even talked to a private nursing company in the area, but it did nothing to assuage my fears.

I kept thinking there had to be another way. So I asked to see the other hospice company – – Hope Hospice. I had talked to them once before, so wasn’t really sure what I thought I was going to gain.

But I went with best intentions.

Before I went up to Jim’s room in the afternoon to meet with them, I did something I have not done at all in all my visits to the hospital. I stopped in the chapel.

And there on the wall was a dove. This commonly is a symbol for the Holy Spirit.

It was the Holy Spirit in 1993 that gave me a prayer that I have memorized and I say often.

And I heard that prayer again while I stood there, looking at the dove on the wall.

Do not be afraid

Do not be afraid

Everything will be all right

Did you ever think you’d be left without a way?

Do not spend one minute of worry

You will know what to do and when to do it

Do not be afraid

Everything will be all right

I went up to Jim‘s room and I talked to him. On the advice of my friend Becky, who had been through this with her parents, I told him it’s OK to go. I told him I will be all right, and it is because of all the strength he has given me. He came in my life when I needed somebody to see me for who I was, and he did that.

I asked him if he felt he was transitioning, and he nodded yes.

The nurses from hospice came in, and I told them the horror story of this year starting with the cancer diagnosis. I expressed my concerns on bringing him home, that I didn’t think that was appropriate or helpful. 

And then to my complete surprise, they told me there is another way to go. There is something called General In-Patient and it would mean that Jim could do hospice right there in the hospital. Hospice would manage his comfort care. This was such a huge relief, I cannot even explain!  The interesting thing is this program is only about a month old in the Lee health system. It was the answer to my prayers… My “I don’t know”prayers.

They called me later and said Jim is approved for the program. I have a few more questions to ask before I commit, and believe this is most likely the way to go. They will keep him comfortable and out of pain. He hasn’t eaten anything since before his surgery, so I’m really not sure how long he will last. 

These last several months have all been about letting him go, and it’s happened gradually. I actually think that was a gift to me rather than losing him at all at once. It has helped me know I will be OK on my own.

On my way out I stopped back in the chapel and I said thank you.

most amazing

When I was in high school, I loved the poet e.e. cummings. It wasn’t just his poetry, but his breaking of grammar rules. He was the first one to make me feel like there could be a freedom in expression that was not something I was taught. I tended to sign my name in lower case. 

This particular cummings poem is my favorite. It takes me back to the summer of 1998 when I was in grief over the loss of my father. I was still a sponsor for Youth of Unity and went to my final annual conference in Kansas City, Missouri with three of our members. This poem was on the back of the program booklet.

This poem reminds me that even with our small little deaths, there is always new life. It reminds me to look and really see. It reminds me that gratitude is always possible.

In this weird summer of health issues and terrifying incidents and uncertain future, e.e.cummings points the way back to amazement and grace. I am grateful.

The Way I Remember You

 Dear Wayne,

Yesterday I unexpectedly found this photo of you I did not even remember existed.

 It’s from June 1994.

You are holding Danny’s daughter Heather.

I showed your dad. He looked at you a long time, but had no words.

I am aware I have not written about you, memories and all.

Still so difficult knowing you’re gone. 

So this is a step.

For you, my son.

Another Day, Another Retelling

 I have two long time favorite columnists from Cleveland. They are Connie Schultz and Regina Brett. They are both inspiring to me as women, as writers, and as people who deeply plumb their experiences and put them in words.

A bit over a week ago, Connie quoted musician Nick Cave in something she put on Facebook. She now writes for Substack and teaches writing at a university in Ohio.When she quoted Cave, she mentioned that she had been told about his book Faith, Hope and Carnage from sister writer Regina Brett.

So, of course, I had to check out the book for myself. 

To be clear, I've never listened to Nick Cave's music. I guess he's from Australia and was kind of post-punk? I don't know. All I know is that what Connie posted got my curiosity up.

The local library had the book, and I've been working my way through it. It is a conversation, not a memoir. And it is full of beauty and awareness and the power of writing music and being a human being who grieves. (Cave's 15-year-old son died falling off a cliff.)

There are many things I want to share about what I've been reading, because some stuff is really sticking with me. I plan to just take one at a time. Today, it is this quote that begins on page 68. 

We should never underestimate that sense of being in the groove of life, of moving from one situation to another with the wind at your back, of being purposeful and valuable, of life having some semblance of order. It's really something, that feeling, made all the more profound because you know how transitory and easily broken it is. It seems to me, life is mostly spent putting ourselves back together. But hopefully in new and interesting ways. For me that is what the creative process is, for sure. It is the act of retelling the story of our lives so that it makes sense.

This week has been one of trying to get my bearings in what feels like a different life in many aspects. What “I am” has appeared to change. But yesterday, after a text conversation with my friend Kate, I realized who I am is not different. It’s the things I’m feeling that are different—feeling I haven’t had before that grow, change, and take me by surprise.

As a caretaker now, I realize that naming my feelings is essential to staying in a loving mode. I did that yesterday, and hope to do so going forward. Doing that helped me make a few decisions yesterday that needed to be made, and set me on a path forward to accomplish some things around here. I had been blocked. There is some relief now.

I kept thinking to be creative I needed to find a way to do something different. But right now, I’m creating a new life seemingly every day depending on the needs around here. As usual, it comes back to the present moment and knowing that in that place, all is well.

I was trying to figure out how to wrap this all up, and came upon this. I will let George have the last word.

It’s being here now that is most important. There’s no past and there’s no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.

 

 

Joy, Grief, Anger

 Recently I decided to get some stuff out of the guest room closet I knew I didn't need. I came across this framed quote:

I knew I should remember who said this, but I had to search it up. It was Julian of Norwich.

In case you don't know her, this is a general description: Julian of Norwich (1342-c.1416) is known to us almost only through her book, The Revelations of Divine Love, which is widely acknowledged as one of the great classics of the spiritual life. She is thought to have been the first woman to write a book in English which has survived.

She is quoted most often for her comforting words: All will be well, all will be well, in all manner of things will be well.

I  have been reading the framed quote aloud to myself since I discovered it. I do it to remind myself that all is, indeed, well in the general scheme of things. But, of course, I'm not exactly feeling that.

Here is a journal entry I wrote.

**

Today I had quite a journey while doing my daily reading/journaling. It began when I was reading Parker Palmer's essay called "Confessing My Complicity." Here is my entry for today:

I haven't finished reading yet but BAM -- these words hit:

Anger isn't the problem. The problem is getting hooked on anger -- addicted to an emotion that gives you a fleeting high but leaves you feeling worse, all the while robbing you of well-being and creating desire for the next hit. Being hooked saps me of energy and harms my health...it diverts me from taking personal responsibility for what is going on right now.

I had all the signs that anger was lurking and I ignored them. Yesterday it evolved into a crying jag and yelling and giving in to my deepest fears.

And to what end? Only felt a little better, but doubt it actually helped.

I AM ANGRY JIM IS ILL.

Yes, I am. I never say that, do I?

I AM ANGRY MY LIFE IS CHANGING IN WAYS I CAN'T CONTROL.

I AM ANGRY THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS TO ATTEND TO ALL THE TIME AND I AM NOW ON MY OWN WITH THEM.

I AM ANGRY ABOUT WHAT IS COMING NEXT SCHOOL YEAR.

I AM ANGRY AT MYSELF FOR LOSING FAITH, FOR NOT BELIEVING IN MIRACLES.

~~~~Phew~~~~

Yesterday two things came up in Facebook memories I needed. One was a quote from Carlos Santana:

If you believe in gravity and drop something a hundred times, a hundred times it's going to fall. But if you believe in grace as you believe in gravity, then a hundred out of a hundred times you're going to get a miracle.

It was followed up by this quote from Regina Brett:

Don't give up before the miracle as there may be more than one.

I read more Parker and he included a quote from Valarie Kaur (founder of the Revolutionary Love Project):

Joy is the gift of love. Grief is the price of love. Anger is the force that protects that which is loved.

This! I have focused on joy and I've acknowledged grief, but I have not allowed anger to show me its force.

I FEEL PROTECTIVE.

Getting Jim safely places. Keeping myself safe so I am there for him. Running interference on procedures and appointments. Keeping everything in the house we need. And secretly being terrified about another hurricane. How can I keep him safe?

I AM ANGRY THIS HAS HAPPENED TO HIM!

And this is why Julian keeps showing up. She is the one who said it's harder to see a loved one suffering than to suffer yourself.

I had pulled out my Julian meditation book yesterday, and now I pulled out her classic Revelations of Love. I feel it is time to read it -- perhaps all the way through. 

Thinking of this further, I can see that while school was on I could shift my anger to stuff there. I didn't have to confront it here at home. That is why these past two weeks have felt so difficult -- this anger was floating around and I didn't have a place for it.

After journaling, I spoke with Jim about this. We figured out a couple small things together and agreed that the last four years have been a barrage of devastating events: Jim's stroke, the pandemic, his eye issue that resulted in blindness, his brother Doug passing, his son Dan passing, the two cancer diagnoses and subsequent treatments, Hurricane Ian, the cancer and COPD diagnoses, and the loss of his son Wayne.

And that leads me back to Valarie's words:

Joy is the gift of love.

Grief is the price of love.

Anger is the force that protects that which is loved.

Use it wisely!

Doing My Job

 

First, the positives. Yesterday I received this card and flowers from the my school in condolence for Wayne’s passing. Beautiful, and many personal messages on the card for Jim and me.

Second, the Behavior Specialist came in my chaotic 5th period so I could meet with each student about their project. If she wasn’t there, I would have never gotten through them all. As it was, it took up to the very last minute, and some students were absent. I am tremendously grateful for her support. I won’t be seeing these students their next two class periods, and I needed to be sure they had a clear direction. It’s the way I do my job.

But the day was a whirlwind, and started out a bit frustrating. Here is what I wrote in my journal:

I cried in frustration AGAIN during PLC and I hate that. Everyone tells me I shouldn’t be the teacher I am. I know it is supposed to make me feel like I can take the pressure off of myself. Yet, I’m tired of that message. And I’m also tired of “solutions” that do not work.

I knew from the start the intensity of this project wouldn’t be fruitful for all kids. WHY IS THAT SUCH A BAD THING TO ACKNOWLEDGE? I don’t think they should have to be left behind because my life blew up.

I believe if I have flexibility and do what I can to reach all learners, I am doing my job. Giving them alternate ways to learn the same skills seems a natural part of the education process to me. I push against other teachers telling me it isn’t necessary. 

I think it is. If I’m doing my job. And despite my constant absences, I am thoroughly dedicated to get the job done. Call me crazy…but I don’t think that will change. 

Light in the Dark

 From Rumi’s poem “Everyone Outdoors Talking”:

Grief lives between the cat paws.

You can say eek-eek and gehk-gohk 

but there is no escape.

Grief has a grip on this house

Resting on the furniture and walls

It’s a constant struggle to gather

Energy to move and do

Finding light in the dark is the only way through