WEEPY BURSTS OF GRIEF
Today has been one of those days where I feel tears threatening at the strangest times. Sitting in my classroom, one of my sweet eighth grade girls is falling apart, asks to sit out awhile. Checking in a bit later, I just hold her hand, let her know that her feelings count, her reactions are real and necessary. She returns part way through class, smiles at me on her way back to 'normal', our secret safe between us.
That's the thing with loss and sadness and living past despair that wants to eat you alive and tear you apart. It's always hovering, breathing hot steamy moments into a day that seems harmless to anyone nearby.
Maybe it was that girl's need that sparked my own memories. Maybe it was the email from a stranger, sharing a connection with not being able to visit her stepfather's gravesite. Maybe it was the sunshine that my Robbie loved to soak up from his vantage point on the garage rooftop. Maybe, just maybe it was nothing.
Listening to 'Pink' as I write this evening from a new perspective above Bestseller's Books and Coffee in Mason, tears threaten to spill over. I push them away. I listen to my amazing writers share their powerful, personal words and I am again fighting tears. My fingers fly across the laptop, creating a character strong enough to embrace the death of her abuser and fight for her future in unconventional and creative ways. Still, the tears are close.
Sitting amidst my high school writers does not push the imminent grief burst away. These young adult writers know me too well. They have made me cry, laugh while crying, out loud and silently at different times with our sharing and bonding through the power of our words.
So, I will get through another unconventional Mason Writes! session with my lovelies. I will probably make it tear free until I drive home. Then, in the dark five minutes it takes me to reach my safe haven, I will let the tears flow. I will miss my boy, seen so often in different faces and glimpsed for a moment or less in the faces of these 'kids' that I love so much.
Embrace the weepy bursts of grief. They matter. They heal.
That's the thing with loss and sadness and living past despair that wants to eat you alive and tear you apart. It's always hovering, breathing hot steamy moments into a day that seems harmless to anyone nearby.
Maybe it was that girl's need that sparked my own memories. Maybe it was the email from a stranger, sharing a connection with not being able to visit her stepfather's gravesite. Maybe it was the sunshine that my Robbie loved to soak up from his vantage point on the garage rooftop. Maybe, just maybe it was nothing.
Listening to 'Pink' as I write this evening from a new perspective above Bestseller's Books and Coffee in Mason, tears threaten to spill over. I push them away. I listen to my amazing writers share their powerful, personal words and I am again fighting tears. My fingers fly across the laptop, creating a character strong enough to embrace the death of her abuser and fight for her future in unconventional and creative ways. Still, the tears are close.
Sitting amidst my high school writers does not push the imminent grief burst away. These young adult writers know me too well. They have made me cry, laugh while crying, out loud and silently at different times with our sharing and bonding through the power of our words.
So, I will get through another unconventional Mason Writes! session with my lovelies. I will probably make it tear free until I drive home. Then, in the dark five minutes it takes me to reach my safe haven, I will let the tears flow. I will miss my boy, seen so often in different faces and glimpsed for a moment or less in the faces of these 'kids' that I love so much.
Embrace the weepy bursts of grief. They matter. They heal.
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