September 11, 2009
Our extended family just lost a little boy, age 2, in a terrible accident. I push myself into my classroom today, the morning after the funeral, in a haze of exhaustion and heartache. I find what I have come to usually find this first week of school: Eric sitting quietly on the couch, letting loose with stealth snide about politicians with whom he disagrees and hopes that the fourth Aragon book is better than the last. Shena, having such an animated audible conversation with the narrator of the short story I am reading aloud that I have to tell her as gently as possible to settle down. Svetlana, who is debating whether to bring in the thirty page fantasy novel she authored. Josh, who is reading what may perhaps be my favorite independent book this year, Superheroes and Philosophy. And kids in each class, who have only known me for 48 hours, chorusing gently and genuinely that the substitute was terrible and they missed me. Each one, each little life, shining.
September 11th, 2009 at 7:53 pm
Again, this is beautiful. And again, I challenge you to explain suffering in terms of religion. All we really have, and you evidence it here, are collections of moments. Moments that are absurd (see Camus) and ultimately, beautiful. And I choose to live in a world fully aware of those moments. Good, bad, ambivalent. Everything in between. Maybe all of that is “god”? Hmmm.
September 11th, 2009 at 9:14 pm
It is the immeasurable stuff that makes the classroom worth returning to year after year.
Very sorry for your loss.
September 11th, 2009 at 10:30 pm
I am sorry for your loss. The description of the kids attitudes and reactions took me there – very real.
September 12th, 2009 at 8:34 am
By the way, hang in there. Know that we’re thinking about your family.
September 12th, 2009 at 1:42 pm
Peace be with you.