As a teacher, I see all kind of behavior from children. They hit, they scream, they cry, and they can sometimes be generally awful creatures. Today, however, students in my class, reminded me that we can be so wonderful and kind.
I have a student who is fairly intellectually challenged. Today, he was crying on the playground. This kiddo had only cried one other time, and when he cries, my world stops. I mean, he is so happy all of the time! So it is very unusual to see him sad. I asked him what was wrong. He very timidly stated that his feelings got hurt. The innocence in his eyes, and the tears that streamed down his face showed that the pain he felt was real and sharp.
I took him in my arms, and felt his pain along with him. I told him that I was sorry that his feelings were hurt. I held him for a moment and then asked him if he wanted to play or stand with me. He chose to play. Not before telling me, "I need to wipe away my tears." I helped him dry his eyes with the sleeve of my shirt, and he then bumbled off.
As I watched him walk away, only moments later were little friends flocking over to check on him. One little guy put his arm around him, and I heard him say, "It's OK, let's go play." Another little girl went to him, waited until she got his eyes and looked purely into them and genuinely asked "Are you, OK?"These little people, all caring for this wounded soul. Truly, almost every child checked in with him, patted him on the back, gave him a hug, smiled at him. They took care of him.
My heart melted with adoration, pride, and warmth, for the simple sweetness of children. These little ones displayed such compassion and empathy that I rarely see in adults, and they did it without prompting, without pride, without wanting anything in return. They did it from a place of unbridled love.
We could all learn from them.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
The Greatest Man
A few years ago, I remember pondering the men I trusted. Sadly, the list wasn't very long, and as I grew older, the list only grew smaller. On December 26th, that list dwindled even more.
My Grandfather was at the top of that list. I always felt safe with him. He would never do anything to put me, my sisters, my Mother, or my Grandmother in harms way. My Grampa was not a wealthy man, but I understand now, that we were all his treasures.
I called upon my Grampa several times in my young teenage life for a ride, or to take me to Les Schwab for tire repair. He always told me to get gas when the gauge was at a 1/4 tank, a habit that I have always followed. I would take Gramma shopping, and he would always tell us to "hold on to your purse!" Upon returning, he would make the same comment, "What'd you do!? Buy out the whole store?!" He'd look at what we'd gotten with a grin on his face, simply happy that we were happy.
I fear that the list of trustworthy men is also short for many girls and women. I am so proud to say that my Grandfather was the greatest man I have ever known. I miss him so much. I keep trying to hear his voice in my head. I want him to pat me on the back, and get sheepish when I would tell him "I love you". He'd just say, "Oh, yeah, I s'pose" He did say it back to me, at the hospital, I think he knew he needed to. We all needed to.
I miss Grampa. He made the top of my list, and it breaks my heart, that instead of the list growing, it simply get smaller with time. But I am blessed to have had him for a time.
My Grandfather was at the top of that list. I always felt safe with him. He would never do anything to put me, my sisters, my Mother, or my Grandmother in harms way. My Grampa was not a wealthy man, but I understand now, that we were all his treasures.
I called upon my Grampa several times in my young teenage life for a ride, or to take me to Les Schwab for tire repair. He always told me to get gas when the gauge was at a 1/4 tank, a habit that I have always followed. I would take Gramma shopping, and he would always tell us to "hold on to your purse!" Upon returning, he would make the same comment, "What'd you do!? Buy out the whole store?!" He'd look at what we'd gotten with a grin on his face, simply happy that we were happy.I fear that the list of trustworthy men is also short for many girls and women. I am so proud to say that my Grandfather was the greatest man I have ever known. I miss him so much. I keep trying to hear his voice in my head. I want him to pat me on the back, and get sheepish when I would tell him "I love you". He'd just say, "Oh, yeah, I s'pose" He did say it back to me, at the hospital, I think he knew he needed to. We all needed to.
I miss Grampa. He made the top of my list, and it breaks my heart, that instead of the list growing, it simply get smaller with time. But I am blessed to have had him for a time.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Growing Up
Have you ever been present when someone takes their last breath? I have. Twice. This most recent time, it was different. My Grandfather, Keith, departed from this world on December 26th, 2012.
The events leading up to this are not as important as the approximate hour or so before that eventually brought me to his bedside that afternoon. That morning was spent with my Grandmother. During this visit, she had expressed hope that he would simply "go in his sleep". At about 1 o'clock, I had a strong sensation to go and visit Grampa. Upon departing, she asked me to tell Grampa, "Hi". I got in the car, and called my Mom. Immediately, I knew that it was time. I told her to relay Gramma's message.
I arrived in the hospital room at about 1:25pm. "It is time for Grampa to die," was my thought. My sister, Kimberly, and Mom we at either side of Grampa. I sat removed for a few minutes, simply taking in the energy of the room, along with the emotions of those present. I was confused and calm at the same time. I first saw my sister, with tears running down her face, just sitting, holding one of Grampa's hands. The presence of my Mother, however, is what struck me. She was sitting on his right side, holding his hand and looking into his eyes. I moved in next to her and wrapped my arm around her, and no longer could fight back the tears that were pooling up behind that dams of my eyes.
The sound of my Grampa's labored breathing broke my heart. It was the most horrific sound that I have ever heard in my life, and to know that nothing could be done, made it all the more wretched. Things happen during the death process that do not need to be written here, but my sister and I, without words, went straight to work, giving him as much dignity as we could. It was a task, that only strong souls could handle, and I am proud of my sister, and myself for that matter. Then my Mom started to speak. She could have been speaking the whole time, but the energy in the room was vibrating and only to be drowned out by the sound of her words.
My Grampa's eyes were fixed upwards for the most part, until she started to tell him it was time to go. My hand now wrapped his and hers. Mom's words, "Dad, it's OK. You can let go. We are here. Mom will be OK." He fought it for a moment, but then his breathing became more gentle, far less laborious. His body relaxed a bit. She continued talking to him, with a tone that seemed to come from a Holy place, one that I had never heard from anyone before. She spoke with gentle authority "Dad, come on, it's time to go Home. Let go, Dad. It's alright... let go..." His eyes teared up... my Mom wiped them away... And with that, he was gone...
Tears poured out, as I stood slowly, my hand giving him Christ's blessing on his forehead, and closed his eyes. I then began to pray The Lord's Prayer over him... my Mom and sister joined in... forever and ever... Amen.
I sat down, overcome with grief. "That was my Dad," my Mom said, as she pointed to his now lifeless body. She wept over him. I was slammed by intense rage. It was scaring me how angry I was. I kept thinking I would do anything to make my Mom not be sad. Then I thought about my Gramma, how unfair it was going to be that she would suffer with the pain that grief brings. My fingers dug into my flesh to distract my brain from screaming. Nurses, and now more family, and noise that had disrupted this sacred and now Holy ground.
This rage continues to flow through me. It has lessened some, but there are times I feel like I am going to explode from the depths of my stomach.
I was told today, that it is an honor to be present at someones death. I had forgotten that I have always believed this to be true. I have also come to realize that I see my Mom is a new light. She is a woman that I truly respect, love, and cherish. She showed me how to say goodbye, how to let go, and ultimately, how to die. I am still learning from this experience, but it has left me changed, and far more grown-up.
The events leading up to this are not as important as the approximate hour or so before that eventually brought me to his bedside that afternoon. That morning was spent with my Grandmother. During this visit, she had expressed hope that he would simply "go in his sleep". At about 1 o'clock, I had a strong sensation to go and visit Grampa. Upon departing, she asked me to tell Grampa, "Hi". I got in the car, and called my Mom. Immediately, I knew that it was time. I told her to relay Gramma's message.
I arrived in the hospital room at about 1:25pm. "It is time for Grampa to die," was my thought. My sister, Kimberly, and Mom we at either side of Grampa. I sat removed for a few minutes, simply taking in the energy of the room, along with the emotions of those present. I was confused and calm at the same time. I first saw my sister, with tears running down her face, just sitting, holding one of Grampa's hands. The presence of my Mother, however, is what struck me. She was sitting on his right side, holding his hand and looking into his eyes. I moved in next to her and wrapped my arm around her, and no longer could fight back the tears that were pooling up behind that dams of my eyes.
The sound of my Grampa's labored breathing broke my heart. It was the most horrific sound that I have ever heard in my life, and to know that nothing could be done, made it all the more wretched. Things happen during the death process that do not need to be written here, but my sister and I, without words, went straight to work, giving him as much dignity as we could. It was a task, that only strong souls could handle, and I am proud of my sister, and myself for that matter. Then my Mom started to speak. She could have been speaking the whole time, but the energy in the room was vibrating and only to be drowned out by the sound of her words.
My Grampa's eyes were fixed upwards for the most part, until she started to tell him it was time to go. My hand now wrapped his and hers. Mom's words, "Dad, it's OK. You can let go. We are here. Mom will be OK." He fought it for a moment, but then his breathing became more gentle, far less laborious. His body relaxed a bit. She continued talking to him, with a tone that seemed to come from a Holy place, one that I had never heard from anyone before. She spoke with gentle authority "Dad, come on, it's time to go Home. Let go, Dad. It's alright... let go..." His eyes teared up... my Mom wiped them away... And with that, he was gone...
Tears poured out, as I stood slowly, my hand giving him Christ's blessing on his forehead, and closed his eyes. I then began to pray The Lord's Prayer over him... my Mom and sister joined in... forever and ever... Amen.
I sat down, overcome with grief. "That was my Dad," my Mom said, as she pointed to his now lifeless body. She wept over him. I was slammed by intense rage. It was scaring me how angry I was. I kept thinking I would do anything to make my Mom not be sad. Then I thought about my Gramma, how unfair it was going to be that she would suffer with the pain that grief brings. My fingers dug into my flesh to distract my brain from screaming. Nurses, and now more family, and noise that had disrupted this sacred and now Holy ground.
This rage continues to flow through me. It has lessened some, but there are times I feel like I am going to explode from the depths of my stomach.
I was told today, that it is an honor to be present at someones death. I had forgotten that I have always believed this to be true. I have also come to realize that I see my Mom is a new light. She is a woman that I truly respect, love, and cherish. She showed me how to say goodbye, how to let go, and ultimately, how to die. I am still learning from this experience, but it has left me changed, and far more grown-up.
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