Week 28: This _________is the cross that I bear, bear with me

I'm finally caught up to the actual week that I'm in within my 70 weeks. This week was a doozie. I feel dead. Maybe it's because I'm sick and physically beaten down, maybe it's stress from work which has been especially tough this time of year due to a series of circumstances with staffing, maybe I'm just tired. It's probably a combination of all of the above.

Maybe one of the main reasons is that I'm grieving. A student of mine graduated this week and it feels like a break-up or a death, probably more accurately, what it would feel like if I had a child that went off to college. I didn't expect it to feel like this. When you're a regular teacher, you cry every year because your students, that you see for 9 months, only at school for about 7 hours 5 days a week, move up to another class. Bonding with my students is different. You see them sometimes 8-12 hours a day, year round and they usually don't change classes at the end of the year. You could work with them for 2, 3, even 5 entire years. Some people even remain influential to students at our school for upwards of 10 years. You see them at their residence, you teach them, watch them progress, you tuck them in bed at night, take care of them when they're sick, tickle them when they're happy, hug them when they're sad, watch them open presents on their birthday, sometimes even on Christmas morning, you eat Thanksgiving dinner with them- and as much as we still draw lines that we are their teachers, not their parents- they seem like your family to you.

Still, I expected it to feel like the happy kind of sadness like when you graduate high school or college- the happiness of moving on, yes wistful sadness, knowing you'll miss people. I knew I'd cry. But I didn't know I'd grieve. This felt more like your kid going off to college, not YOU graduating from high school and going to college. Maybe it felt more like going off to college for her, because that's kind of what it was. I suppose it makes sense it would feel like having a child leave for college because as teachers, we're more in the parental role than the student role.

Nonetheless, things at work that remind me of her brought me to tears, sometimes I didn't even want to say her name, the whole place feels empty. I'm sure it will fill up again, especially with the coming of a new student to bring in her own brand of humor, joy, and challenges.

But until then, there's an empty space. I still maintain it's the kind you feel after a break up, you know, the one that makes your flirt with the idea of never entering into a relationship again because you don't want to feel the pain after it ends? I have a friend who was especially concerned about entering into a relationship, falling in love for that very reason. And I found myself wondering why I do this- this work with special needs children that leads to profound attachment that will always eventually lead to the feeling of loss that I will probably be doing for another 40+ years. Every student I have will move on, in almost every case to uncertain circumstances, I will always be left with the worry of what will happen to them, that they will lose ground, end up in a program, group home, or institution where they will be restricted and limited or ill treated, that they'll end up out on the streets, taken advantage of, in jail.

Now this student, I'm less concerned about than most of those that I will say goodbye too, but still concerned. And of course, there's the just plain missing a student you've worked with for so long. So the day she left, and even the day afterward, I went into work feeling empty, flirting with the idea that my career was just a series of set ups for the eventual pain of loss and concern. I wondered how I could continue with what God calls me to, especially after I leave her and go into the even more painful and unforgiving world of public school.

"What a Good Boy" by the Barenaked ladies always resonated with me- primarily for this line (I really should just blog about song lyrics instead of 70 weeks of prayer, I swear):
This name is the hairshirt I wear,
and this hairshirt is woven from your brown hair.
This song is the cross that I bear,
bear it with me, bear with me, bear with me,
be with me tonight,
I know that it isn't right, but be with me tonight.

The first section doesn't apply to what I'm talking about, but I just like it. But the idea that "this song," what he does, what he's called to, is the cross that he bears- always stuck with me.
The pain of loss and concern- that occurs everyday of teaching, not just when a student graduates- the constant concern and challenge coupled with emotional connection to students will always be the cross I bear.
Of course, this is no way to look at it. It's the millions of smiles and goofy things students do, all the moments of triumph, their successes, all the great things they say- every single precious moment- all the reasons you love your students, all the reasons that you grieve when they leave, that make it all worth it. The very fact that you grieve them tells you that you lead a worthwhile life.

I was not the only one who grieved- all the other teachers did, and still are. We've cried, we feel saddened when reminded of the same things, or the absence of her things around our residence. But this is the cross that we bear for loving, and at least we have people to bear with us, to bear it along side us. And we'll continue to love all of our students to the same degree, despite having to carry this cross again.

It occurred to me that day my student left, as the snow fell, that like the snow, she was a quiet blessing that highlighted all she touched, kept us from venturing out looking for joy and made us see it right within our own lives- the joy we had right in front of us. But like the snow, the seasons change, and it was time for her to move on. The important thing was that she, and all of our students, while we may eventually grieve them, are a blessing. And if you don't love what you're investing your life in enough to grieve it when it goes, you're not loving it enough. So all this grief, is a good sign- and our love is the cross that we bear, bear with us.