The Final Entry

I took an unannounced sabbatical--one that was unintended. I don't like to leave things unfinished, so I will get you caught up on where I was and what happened. 

I was working on a post at the end of October 2012 when I found out my former student whom I've blogged about before passed away. Her death was something I knew possible, but I just never expected it would happen to her. Kids just don't die, right? At least not the ones I've had, and I suppose that makes me lucky. I got the news as I was driving home, and I remember wanting to get out of my car, but at the same time wanting to drive until the road just ended.

When I went home that evening, I flipped through a notebook I had my kids sign when I left that school. I came across her page and read her now-seeming prophetic words. I won't share them here because I want to hold on to them, keep them for myself, but I will say that she wrote about time and how short it is. As I read her words, I just sobbed and sobbed. The tears were for her, for me, for God. I just didn't understand why her, and I didn't understand why I had a life that I was just wasting with anger and bitterness. At her funeral I saw most of my former kids who are now all young adults. We shared tears and hugs and stories, and when I went home that night, I just went numb.

I think I stayed like that for a month. Work was work. My colleagues and I continued to bond and muddle through, but at home, things were rocky.

At winter break, I asked my partner for a separation. We were in my hometown at the time, so I flew home by myself. I remember that as the plane left the tarmac, I felt that same feeling as when I was in the car finding out my former student passed away. I wanted to jump out of that plane yet never leave it. Coming home to an apartment with a life in it that was left on pause only compounded that feeling. The first month was a series of tears, depression, numbness, and fear. In February, I asked for a divorce. Another series of tears, depression, and fear with numbness replaced by anger. 

I don't know how I made it to spring break. One foot in front of the other, I suppose. Of course I had amazing friends by my side and a phone call away, but I recognize that I had to walk that road.

I'm still walking it.

After spring break--well, now this just feels comical--I heard that word again: merger. Two summers ago, my previous high school closed due to a merger, and most of the staff was laid off or displaced. Was I somehow stuck in my own version of Groundhog Day? No, no--that's just the life of a charter school teacher. This time, the opposite happened: most of staff retained their jobs, but I lost mine. There's a lot more I could say here. I'm leaving out details, conversations, angst-filled words, but you've heard the story before. If you haven't, click that link above and you'll get the gist. What I will say is this--I adore my colleagues. They had become such a vital support system due to our work-place chaos and my own personal chaos. They were like limbs, and now they were being ripped away. How was I supposed to function? Suddenly that road ahead of me seemed much more treacherous.

There's a reason people don't build houses on swamps. You kind of need a foundation. I haven't had much of one personally or professionally in the last little while. At least as long as I've had this blog, which is nearly three years. It's no wonder I feel stuck in a house that's sinking and I'm constantly wanting to flee the scene. 

The last month or two of school, I just let it all go. Of course I was still tearing into their writing--someone had to do that--but the faculty and kids knew we were all one big joke. Our principal at some point finally put up her hands. We were all fed up and ready for it to be June already, but when it was, part of me was not ready to leave. Graduation, while it had its kinks like everything related to my school, was a poignant moment for me. I taught every single one of those kids--most of them for two years. I realized, we did decent work together and they are better writers than when I met them.

And just like that, it was over--the year, my job, my life as I knew it.

So now I'm here, at this place which is called uncertainty. What I know is that I will miss my colleagues more than I can express. You know that saying "There's no atheists in a foxhole"? There aren't, and they gave me something to believe in. I know that I outgrew two unhealthy relationships, and that as hard as it is to leave or to be left, it's for the better. I know this blog was a lifeline for me, and I'm sad to let it go, but it's the right thing to do. Finally, I know that something better is out there, but I don't know where or how to get there, so until then I'm here, and I'm trying to be okay with that.

Through The Eye Of A Needle

(This is an unfinished post from October.)

I'm not necessarily the religious type, but this speaks to me today:

It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.

Who knows if there really were small gates called "the eye of a needle"which people used when the main gates were locked, and who knows if merchants, upon entering the city after dark, really had to unload their sundries and get the camel to crawl so it could pass through this small gate. The point is, this story creates a great metaphor. In life, we are often brought to our knees and locked out for whatever reason. To get "in," we have to unload our baggage and crawl in humility to reach the other side.

These days I feel locked out. I'm at a place where I cannot pass emotionally and physically. Laura's termination cast a shadow on our campus. Our principal's promise to allow our special education teacher to "push in" to our classrooms has gone unfulfilled. The first years and the rest of our faculty--myself included--need far more support than we are receiving. The systemic problems that permeated our campus last year are quickly surfacing again. Actually, they never left. I was just so enchanted with and excited about our group that I didn't see--or maybe I just didn't want to see. And now that these problems are on the surface again, I see my colleagues hitting the wall like I did last year and the year before.