Grief

On Friday, one of our sixth grade students got called down to the office. Her mother was killed in a car accident. I heard about it while I was signing my name. I forgot how to form the letters. I left out one of my “l’s” and my signature was shaky, like I was learning to write all over again. In that instant I was taken back to the night that I got my own phone call of losing my parents, the moment that changed my life forever.

The tidal wave of sadness, fear, helplessness came rushing back. For once I didn’t try to escape, instead I let all the feelings wash over me. It seemed like I was awake most of the night listening to the rain fall. In the morning instead of making myself get up and push my feelings away, I listened to music and cried a little and then went to the glass studio.

I made frit. Frit is basically ground glass. It can be purchased, but the advantage of making it is that different colors can be mixed and the texture can be really fine, really course, or anything in between. Glass in the blender makes an angry crunch., a satisfying sound. But spooning the frit into heart shaped molds has a meditative quality. The hours slipped by.

While I was making the hearts, I thought of my student. All year, she has been a kid that has had my full attention. Her reading skills are atrocious, but she compensates by asking a million questions and checking in and listening to every word, she misses nothing. She is loud, rude, and obnoxious, but also helpful, attentive., and a pleaser. She’s like the glass hearts, hard and fragile .

I have grown to care deeply about her and she left on Friday, before I knew what happened. I want to talk to her. I know this girl. She’s going to be tough and brave and not show she is dying inside. I know how that story unfolds. I want to tell her it’s okay to feel whatever she feels. Life will never be the same, but it does not stop. She is a victim, but she gets to decide how to be a survivor. Maybe I just want to give her a hug, because she will have to figure out her own path.

I used to think of grief of this kind of forest to get through. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to reroute myself. Now I see it is a one way trail. It’s not straight, or easy, but the only way to the other side is to stay the course and trust that light will find the dark places.