When Death Comes Too Soon

My son started Kindergarten today.  My husband and I were both a little teary-eyed as we said good-bye to him, but he had a big smile and faced the day with excitement. 

After dropping him off at his classroom, we joined other Kindergarten parents at a meeting with the principal where all of our questions were asked and answered.  We all shared our nerves, sadness, and excitement (for some), but the principal shared the most important news of the day.   She welcomed us to the school "family", a family that had lost one of its own the previous day.  A parent of three boys at the school died suddenly yesterday.  He was only 44 years old. 

As the story unfolded, I felt such tremendous sadness for this family that I did not know at all.  The wife who was suddenly a widow.  The three boys ages 7, 9, and 11 who said good-bye to their dad yesterday morning when he dropped them off, and who was dead before school ended that same day.  I felt sadness for the eight siblings scattered across the country who were answering their phones to receive the unexpected news about their brother.  I felt sad that I had been crying just moments before because I wouldn't see my little boy for a few hours when this family would never see their husband/father/brother on this Earth again.  Ever.  My first-day-of-school nerves gave way to tremendous sadness that caught me off guard, and took away my breath.  

When I lost my Dad suddenly four years ago, I was not at all prepared for the phone call that came announcing his death.  I remember exactly where I was in my house.  I remember the time.  I remember feeling like I had been punched in the stomach.  Like the air was all sucked out of the room and I couldn't breathe.  I remember calling a friend to come stay with my son because my husband was out of town at the time.  I remember collapsing in her arms, unable to stand as I cried onto her shoulder.  I remember it all like it happened yesterday.  And every time I hear about the unexpected death of someone who has died much too early, has left his or her family at such a young age, I remember with such clarity the day that my Dad died.  And I relive it, over and over.  I have several days of limited sleep, lots of crying, and prayers sent up to grant me long life so that my children will not be left to grow without me.  Even 62, the age of my Dad when he died, is way too soon for me to leave this world. 

A former student of mine lost her dad in a house fire in May of 2010.  I cried when I was told, cried with her when she told me she missed him, and cried for days as I remembered my own pain at my father's death.  I wrote a Facebook post at that time that captured what I was feeling, but I wanted to write it again somewhere that I could see more frequently.  I want to be able to remind myself that even though my Dad has died, I was lucky to have him.  I was "lucky" that I was nearly 37 when my Dad died.  I got to have much more of him than a child of age 6, 7, 9, or 11.  I need to remind myself of all that he saw and experienced with me, rather than all that he is not present for now. 

It's been 15 months since I wrote this, but it still brings tears to my eyes.  And it is still the way I feel today.  Lucky.


May 10, 2010...

A little girl in my class lost her daddy today. He died in a fire in their apartment, and he was only 35 years old. When I was given the news, I was first grateful that she and her brother spent the night at her grandma's house and were safe, and then I was hit with a deep sadness that she is only 6 years old and has to live without her daddy.

I was lucky enough to have a Daddy for almost 37 years, and I thought that wasn't enough time. How selfish am I? There was so much more that I wanted to share with my Dad. I'm so sad that he doesn't get to see me be a mother, that he doesn't know my kids, and that he misses all the day to day junk of life. But how lucky am I that he got to teach me how to ride a bike and how to swim? That he got to watch me graduate from high school and college? That he got to witness my marriage? That he was there the day I became a mother?  That we took trips together?

If I close my eyes and listen, I can hear my Dad laugh and I can see him smile. I have so many great memories. So how lucky am I? I bet my student thinks I'm pretty lucky. I hope that the rest of her family talks about her dad to her so that she can remember the time she had with him. I hope that someone else in her family has pictures of him, since everything in the apartment was lost, so that she can remember what he looks like. I hope she feels his love for her and that it carries her through the horrible days full of sadness that are ahead of her. I hope that she is able to feel him in her heart and hear his voice and laughter in her ears as she grows. Those are the things I would wish for my babies if something so tragic happened to me.

I know I am lucky to have been blessed with a loving father for 37 years, but on days like today I'm still just a girl who wants a hug from her daddy and misses him very much.

The First Day Of Kindergarten

I now have 16 "First Day of Kindergarten" days under my belt.  17 if you count my own first day at age 5.

I am a Kindergarten teacher.

I have watched little boys and girls walk into my classroom on the first day of Kindergarten for the past 16 years.  I have watched their faces.  Some were filled with wonder and excitement as they looked around their new classroom.  Some were filled with fear and anxiety as they clung to their parent's hand.  Some were filled with pure sadness as they said good-bye to mommy and/or daddy.  The tears would stop eventually for them, I assured their parents, but for some it would take the better part of that first day before they became just comfortable enough to stop crying. 

But it was always the faces of the parents that I was most curious about for many years.  Some came in smiling and laughing as they "FINALLY" sent their last child off to school.  Some were scared and nervous, asking lots of questions like "What if he doesn't have enough time to eat all his lunch?" or "Will you call me if she doesn't stop crying?"  And then there were the parents who had tears sitting precariously just inside that bottom eye lid.  The ones trying so hard to keep it all together, for their child's sake, as they helped their little boy or girl get acquainted and settle in for the day.  Those parents were simultaneously the most pitiful and the most interesting for me to observe.  Pitiful because I wondered how they could feel so much sadness at being separated from their child for a mere 6 1/2 hours.  Interesting because I wondered what must they be thinking inside their heads that made them well up with tears and stifle a sob as they waved good-bye one final time and slowly walked out the door. 

This year, I finally know what those parents are thinking.  This year, I send my son to Kindergarten.  This year, the "First Day of Kindergarten" takes on a whole new meaning for me.

I watched my students' parents differently this year.  I tried to anticipate my own feelings on my son's first day of school through all of these parents in my classroom.  Would I be like P's mom who just couldn't make herself leave?  Who found a different question to ask just so she could stay long after the bell rang?  Or would I be like K's mom, who hid behind her husband as she felt the tear slip over the edge and her shoulders begin to shake because she didn't want her son to see her cry?  Or would I be like C's mom giving a quick hug and kiss followed by "I love you, have fun!"

The teacher in me tells me to be nothing like P's mom.  No teacher appreciates the lingering parent on the first day of school.  I hope I will be like C's mom, keeping a smile on my face and instilling a sense of adventure in his heart.  But I think I will most resemble K's mom.  I know I will cry.  I just hope I can be as graceful as she was so that my son doesn't see my tears.  My brain tells me that he will be fine.  That he'll have fun.  That he'll make new friends and learn new things.  But my heart will miss him all day.  And I think the day apart will feel much longer to me than to him as I wonder what he is doing with each passing minute.  

In one week I will know the answer to my questions about this unique "First Day of Kindergarten" for me.  And, like it or not, the next thirteen years of school life will begin for our family.  Ready or not, here it comes!

Book Review: Unbroken

I finally finished this book selected for my book club last month:  "Unbroken:  A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption" by Laura Hillenbrand.

Let me preface this post by saying the following...

First, I wish I had shown more interest in/registered for more/paid attention better in geography and history classes when I was in high school and college. 

Second, every time I read a piece of historical fiction or non-fiction I am reminded of how little I actually know about the world in which I live and the events that have shaped this world.  I shamefully admit that I am very ignorant about a lot of things from my country's history, not to mention what has happened in the rest of the world.

Now that I've taken the first step, admit your ignorance, I am ready to move forward and state that I really enjoyed this book.  I felt a range of emotions as I read, and I learned a lot about World War II and the people who lived it. 

Laura Hillenbrand writes a beautiful and, at times, painful account of Louie Zamperini, "a juvenile delinquent-turned-Olympic runner-turned-Army hero (Amazon.com review)."  Louie's plane went down into the Pacific ocean during a routine search mission in 1943, and most of the crew were lost at sea with the wreckage.  This is the story of Louie's survival and what he endured during his years as a Japanese POW.  It is also the story of how he survived after coming home from the war, how he fought his personal demons, and how he chose to live the life that he fought for during the war.

I was shocked to learn how many men were held as POW's by the Japanese during WW2, and deeply disturbed by how they were treated.  Or, more importantly, MIStreated by the Japanese guards.  I know, I should have paid more attention during those history classes!

But I felt some retribution as I discussed this book with other women in my book club when I learned that all of them were just as clueless as me on the topic.  I, as some of the other women confessed, knew Hitler was the big bad guy during WW2.  I have been to three concentration camps, or what remains of them, in Europe, and to the National Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC.  I have read several books over the years of Holocaust survivors documenting the horrors they experienced and witnessed during the war.  I thought I knew a lot about WW2.  But I thought the extent of Japan's involvement was that they bombed Pearl Harbor.  That they somehow snuck into Hitler's war and attacked the U.S. so they could get some press.   I just didn't get it - what was the connection between Japan and Hitler?  And Italy?  What was up with Italy?  All these years and I thought Italy was part of the ALLIED forces when they were actually the ENEMY!  I must have been sleeping through that portion of history class because I honestly had no idea how Italy was involved.

Before you criticize me, please see my statements at the beginning of this post.  I know that my lack of understanding is shameful!

Now I have a better understanding of WW2, of every country's involvement and what they stood to gain (in their opinion) or lose, and what effect it had on ALL parts of the world.  And I am interested in learning more about this important piece of our history so that I will no longer feel "clueless" as I keep moving forward in my life. 

Thank you, Laura Hillenbrand, for writing a book that was interesting, engaging, and educational for me.  And thank you to Louie Zamperini and other WW2 vets for your service to our country.  We owe you all a debt of gratitude for refusing to be "Broken" by powers beyond your control, and for living to tell all of us about it!

29 Gifts - Take Two

I was doing great.  I was on a roll.  Then I went back to work and I lost my mo-jo.  I only work part time, but I was full time for two weeks before resuming my part time schedule.  And that was enough for me to get completely off track from my 29 Gifts, blogging, and all things for myself.  In the book, 29 Gifts, she explains that you could just pick up where you left off if you miss a day.  It was too hard for her to start over when she missed one day so she just moved on with her next gift and let that day go.  I, however, have let too many days go between my gifts.  I am pretty sure I have to start over.  So tomorrow will be Gift 1, Day 1 and I will try the process again. 

Hopefully the universe will forgive me. 

I know I am very lucky that I am able to work part time.  It's hard to do without a lot of the things we want because we don't have as much money, but I will only have one chance to be present for my two children while they are small.  And that is worth the smaller salary to me. 

Although, I have to admit, it was VERY hard to sign my new contract last week and visualize my salary doubled to the amount I would make if I were full time.  We could remodel the kitchen.  I could have that back patio converted into a 3-season porch.  We could go to Europe!

But all of those things will have to wait.  My babies will only be small for such a short time.  And that is more important to me than money and all the nice things that come with money. 

But I'm still going to buy my lottery ticket later today and pray for the best!  And I will think of an appropriate gift for tomorrow.  Day 1, the sequel.