Quiet Finish

I avoid social media at this time of year; the memories of all the past June tragedies are a lot. But that doesn’t mean the memories don’t come anyway. Lately, I have been thinking about my mom. I used to go over to the house and sit at the kitchen counter and watch her cook and tell her the stuff that was happening in my life. If it was good stuff, she’d cheer. If it wasn’t, she’d suggest we go shopping. Hence, whenever I have decisions to make, I wander around The Buckle and Forever 21 for while.

I have had an incredibly difficult time sinking into the rhythm of summer this year. The whole decision of what I am going to do next year for a job has been weighing heavy on my mind. I was thinking about what my mom would say. First off, she wouldn’t understand my angst about teaching. She always thought teachers are to be held in great esteem because they are giving everything to kids for the better of the world. She was proud of me for being an artist and a writer, but she was most proud of me for being a teacher. Second, she wouldn’t have understood the Pueblo thing. She would look around at the boarded up buildings, and weeds and graffiti and just see DANGER. She would recognize that the kids need safety and someone to care about them. She probably would have trotted out her wallet a dozen times and bought hoodies, backpacks, and books for my classroom. But she wouldn’t have thought that I would have to be the one to teach there. Let someone else do that. Then she would have had plenty of things to say about my personal life. I don’t know what she would have said about her grandson though. My guess is she would have been at a loss with him and probably doing the same thing I am, hoping for better.

There have been plenty of bad summers with Shayne since his diagnosis, but this is the worst. I don’t know how to help him anymore. The strong roots of family that I was raised with hold me in the game and support him and love him and just try to make it through whatever obstacle comes our way. On the other hand the absolute enormity of a lifetime of his disease makes me want to push him to be as self sufficient as he can be, which every time puts him on the street or in a situation were he ends up being held down by security guards and shot up with a cocktail of drugs. Both scenarios keep me up at night.

Earlier this week I went and finished the llama mural I started at Parkview. I ran into one of my students. His face lit up and he came and gave me a full on hug, not a “dab me up” fist bump. He said Miss Tay Tay! Then he went and got his crew and they rode their bikes over and shared their Takis with me. After that I went and turned in my resignation.

I don’t know if it was the right choice. I love those kids. I know that not everyone wants to teach in that neighborhood and I want the best for them. But I also need to take care of myself and my own family. I guess I am practicing making decisions for myself instead of everyone else. It’s not so easy, after a lifetime of thinking about everyone else first. Dad came to me in a dream last night. He was sweeping up my bedroom–all sorts of stuff–cat litter, Monopoly money, piles of dirt. I was scrambling to pick up dice out of the debris, thinking about using it for math games. He stopped me and said, “Let it go. It’s time for a new story.”

Okay. Message received. So instead of worrying about the future and fretting about the past, I am going to try to just live in the moment. This past year has taught me so much about grace and love and strength. No matter what happens next, those lessons live in my heart and will take me to the next chapter.