Over the course of a few days: freezing rain, then snow, then bright sun, warmth and melting. Midnight thunderstorms and water in the basement. Then fog. Then hail. And sun again.
A chance to run outside (twice!) and to feel overly-warm. Puddles to splash through, cool water seeping into my shoes. It felt good. Seeing a robin felt good, too, although hard to believe. The warmth was only a few hours old—did this bird rise up out of the ground?
Sick children. Time together.
Time spent working with my hands. Learning new things, and falling in love with the process.
Antsy students, which translates into chaos mixed with short brilliant moments of learning.
Watching my children respond to others’ deep hurt, and being reminded (again) how very, very fragile it all is.
The chance to take part in the celebration of a life that was full and too short. I did not know her. But now in a way I feel like I do.
More sickness—me this time—twenty hours in bed, and the kindness of my family. Small gifts to treasure: an eleven year-old who was proud to make lunch, a Cadbury creme egg, a read-aloud from the Captain Underpants book of the day. Those hours weren't lost, I've decided.
Monday again, gray sky. New resolve to learn this life as well as I can. Thinking about how sometimes what we're doing looks like staggering, and sometimes it looks like dance.
The chance to take part in the celebration of a life that was full and too short. I did not know her. But now in a way I feel like I do.
More sickness—me this time—twenty hours in bed, and the kindness of my family. Small gifts to treasure: an eleven year-old who was proud to make lunch, a Cadbury creme egg, a read-aloud from the Captain Underpants book of the day. Those hours weren't lost, I've decided.
Monday again, gray sky. New resolve to learn this life as well as I can. Thinking about how sometimes what we're doing looks like staggering, and sometimes it looks like dance.
