Healing...
I won't lie, these last couple months have been rough. I've hurt and grieved in ways I haven't before over the untimely deaths of two of my students in the last two months. I love teaching and I feel so at home in the classroom marveling at how my heart has expanded to love 140 7th graders. It's been devastating that two of "my" girls ended their lives in violent ways.
I have had loved ones pass but never like this, never on my watch, under my care. I've coped the best I can--prayer, positive thinking, service and a lot more prayer. I've cried until I can't cry any longer and came to the realization that these losses have bruised my soul and it's going to take time to process my grief. One of my stages of grief, nestled between depression and acceptance is writing and, despite my best efforts, haven't been able to write at all; but today, in a spray of sunshine, the words finally came and I am breathing again.
I write after I process and I'll write again and again and again until my words fill me so greatly that they will push the pain away. So, here is my first effort. Raw, unedited--peace.
Verbs
5/8/13
I am an English teacher,
a lover of words, books,
freshly-sharpened pencils
and verbs.
I've taught my 7th graders
about nouns, pro and proper
of complex sentences,
prepositions,
adverbial phrases.
But they
are all about verbs
in their young lives,
laughing,
dancing,
primping,
playing...
The ring of my phone shattered silence
on two different Sunday mornings,s
my principal, her voice
suspended in shock, telling
me that my student,
took her own life.
And then, another call,
another student.
Suicide.
A noun?
No, it's a verb--
an act of pain, lingering pain
which spreads beyond the one
to so many,
tearing hearts,
leaving gaping holes
of emptiness in it's path.
I stood in front of my students,
another verb forming in my mouth,
"Live," I whispered,
"Please live."
"Live for first love, for stolen kisses,
for graduation, for purpose, for sand in your shoes,
for sunshine on your face after winter, for joy
you'll have as an adult that you cannot
comprehend now,
live to hold your first-born,
live to get that first paycheck, live to look
beyond yourself.
Live for your parents, your friends--
please live."
Faces of my students swam in front of me
as warmth from my tears clung to my face.
My arms ached from holding
13-year olds, bent and shaking from
weight they are not meant to carry, as
I repeated again and again, as if I
could solidify my words in their hearts:
"You matter to me."
"We'll get through this together."
"It's ok to cry."
"You are not alone."
Filling their emptiness with my
words knowing the only
verb that can heal is
Love.
I have had loved ones pass but never like this, never on my watch, under my care. I've coped the best I can--prayer, positive thinking, service and a lot more prayer. I've cried until I can't cry any longer and came to the realization that these losses have bruised my soul and it's going to take time to process my grief. One of my stages of grief, nestled between depression and acceptance is writing and, despite my best efforts, haven't been able to write at all; but today, in a spray of sunshine, the words finally came and I am breathing again.
I write after I process and I'll write again and again and again until my words fill me so greatly that they will push the pain away. So, here is my first effort. Raw, unedited--peace.
Verbs
5/8/13
I am an English teacher,
a lover of words, books,
freshly-sharpened pencils
and verbs.
I've taught my 7th graders
about nouns, pro and proper
of complex sentences,
prepositions,
adverbial phrases.
But they
are all about verbs
in their young lives,
laughing,
dancing,
primping,
playing...
The ring of my phone shattered silence
on two different Sunday mornings,s
my principal, her voice
suspended in shock, telling
me that my student,
took her own life.
And then, another call,
another student.
Suicide.
A noun?
No, it's a verb--
an act of pain, lingering pain
which spreads beyond the one
to so many,
tearing hearts,
leaving gaping holes
of emptiness in it's path.
I stood in front of my students,
another verb forming in my mouth,
"Live," I whispered,
"Please live."
"Live for first love, for stolen kisses,
for graduation, for purpose, for sand in your shoes,
for sunshine on your face after winter, for joy
you'll have as an adult that you cannot
comprehend now,
live to hold your first-born,
live to get that first paycheck, live to look
beyond yourself.
Live for your parents, your friends--
please live."
Faces of my students swam in front of me
as warmth from my tears clung to my face.
My arms ached from holding
13-year olds, bent and shaking from
weight they are not meant to carry, as
I repeated again and again, as if I
could solidify my words in their hearts:
"You matter to me."
"We'll get through this together."
"It's ok to cry."
"You are not alone."
Filling their emptiness with my
words knowing the only
verb that can heal is
Love.
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