Ten Days of Emotional Roller Coaster Rides

During this time of grief for the loss of my daughter Julie, we have also been going through a time of grief over the break-up of a marriage and family in our immediate family.  Since I respect the privacy of family members, I will say little about the grief that we have been going through because of the loss that is associated with divorce.  I only will say that we have experienced great turmoil, pain and sorrow.  Sometimes it seems almost too much to bear.  And yet, in the midst of upheaval, good things continue to happen.

On the 11th of November, my husband and I traveled to the northern part of our state support my daughter Amy during the difficult time she is going through in the break-up of her marriage.  That evening, we had a bon voyage dinner.  My oldest daughter Keicha, Julie's former significant other Jason, and Keicha's good friend Amy were departing the next day for Bangladesh.

My youngest son, his wife, and my grandson have been in Bangladesh for the past year and a half.  It has been difficult to have them so far away from home, and yet it has also been exciting and our lives have all been enriched because of the experiences this young family has had on the other side of this planet.  During the time they have been gone, they have kept us up to date on their lives through their the wonderful blog: threeinsixmillion.blogspot.com .  We are able to keep in touch via the many forms of technology now at our fingertips.  For that I am thankful, but miss them, we do.

Thankfully, we were able to bring this family home for Julie's services in early June.  After a week of much family togetherness, a time when all four of my remaining children, all of my seven grandchildren, and Jason, Julie's former significant other, all seemed to move as one tight-knit pack, I wondered how all of us would survive another goodbye as we moved on to our separate lives.  Jonathan, Samantha and Atticus would journey back to the other side of the world.  Ryan and his family, Keicha and her daughter, my former husband and his wife would all return to Utah.  My husband and I would return to Southern Colorado, and Amy and her family would remain in the Boulder area, as would Jason.

It was then that I had the idea that Jason should plan a trip.  It would be something he could look forward to.  Bangladesh seemed to be a great destination.  Not only would Jason have an exciting trip to plan, but Jonathan and Samantha and Atticus could look forward to a visit from home.  Before long, Keicha also decided that a trip to Bangladesh would also be something wonderful to look forward to.  Her friend decided to join Jason and Keicha on the adventure.

And so, roughly five months after the first conversations about thinking about a journey to help with the healing from a terrible loss, the trip became a reality.  It seems the trip has been a great success.  That is what I read on Facebook.  I've seen the first photos.  I read a few status updates.  I've rejoiced that they have all been together and made happy memories.  

At the same time, our hearts have been breaking over the break up of a marriage that has been a major part of our family for a decade and half.  Life does not seem fair at times.  It seems much too painful.  And then, life seems exciting and hopeful and joyful.  It definitely has it peaks and valleys.  The most accurate description of my life over the past ten days would be to describe it as one big emotional roller coaster ride.  Thankfully, I have a husband who holds my hand through the entire ride.  For that I am extremely grateful.

It's the little things that get you: shower caps, iceberg lettuce, and cottage cheese.

This morning, after leisurely reading the paper, making a nice breakfast for my husband, and quickly checking email, facebook and etc., I realized I was going to have to step on it to make it to church on time.  Glancing in the mirror before jumping in the shower, I decided I could get by without washing my hair.  Thinking that it might be a good idea to assure my hairdo would survive the shower, I remembered I had a shower cap somewhere.  Yes, indeed, I did have a shower cap.  I had a lot of shower caps as a matter of fact.  Then, the tears started.

Julie had very curly hair.  She hated washing her hair at my house because we use a water softener.  She maintained that the soft water made her hair impossible to work with.  She was right.  Soft water does not work well with curly hair.  The last time she was here, she searched for a shower cap so she wouldn't have to deal with frizzy hair if she showered without washing her hair.  Finally, after a search through drawers, and her sister's bags, a shower cap was produced.

A few weeks later, my husband and I went to Europe for a month.  It seemed that every hotel had a free shower cap next to the bathroom sink.  The river boat that we went on also provided shower caps.  I began to collect them all.  I thought it would be a fun souvenir from the trip.  I planned on surprising Julie with a new shower cap from somewhere in Europe every time she came home.

Of course, Julie never came home again.  Her last trip home was on Easter weekend of this year.  We left for Europe about two weeks later.  I had forgotten about the shower caps until today.  I had stowed them away in a bathroom drawer when we returned home, and there they remained.  Who knew a shower cap could make one cry?

Iceberg lettuce has the same effect.  When I encounter it in a salad, I either get teary eyed, or I have to smile to myself about how much Julie hated iceberg lettuce.  She called it white trash lettuce, or wt lettuce for short.  My girls and I can't eat it without thinking of Julie.  Who knew that lettuce could bring out these powerful emotions?

Today at church, I ran into a friend who lost her daughter 14 years ago.  She recalled how the little things can trigger a memory or a reminder.  She said for her it is cottage cheese.  Her daughter was the only one in the house to eat cottage cheese.  I understand how cottage cheese can make one be struck with the terrible reality of what has been lost.  I get that.  I know that something as simple as cottage cheese can make a mother cry like she just lost her baby because, you see, she did.  She lost her beautiful daughter to cancer, and now she no longer buys cottage cheese.   She and I belong to a club neither of us wanted to join.  We know how it hurts to lose a child.  She understands, really understands, why I cried over that shower cap before I went to church this morning.

Back in the Saddle

One of my Facebook friends, a friend from high school days, commented on my return to work by saying, "While being back in the saddle might still be enjoyable, getting back into it is sometimes more difficult!"  That statement is very true.  


I began my new job of teaching English to international students at the CSU-Pueblo on Monday.  Thankfully, Monday morning's alarm did not totally jar me because awaking early and to an alarm occurred on only the second day of our return to standard time.  My body thought that it was 7:00 a.m. rather than 6:00 a.m.  I actually got out of bed as soon as the alarm rang.  I then immediately took a shower.  This act alone signaled a big change.  I had showered, dressed, put on make-up and done my hair by 6:45.  Normally, if I had even gotten up before 7:00 a.m.,  I would still be in my p.j.'s, and would be just sipping my coffee, reading the newspaper, and watching the news on the Today Show.  


Proud of myself for remembering the routine for getting myself out of the door no later than 7:30 a.m., I proudly left the house on time after having eaten breakfast and reading a newspaper.  The campus where I am working is literally a five minute drive from my house.  I found that I was actually one of the few on campus at my early arrival time.  Ah, yes, I remembered, college students and retirees have something in common: they both get a late start in the morning.


By 8:00 a.m., I had arranged my teaching area, written my name and contact information on a large tablet on an easel located at the front of the room, and was greeting my new students as they arrived in the classroom.  I could tell they were as nervous and anxious as I about seeing how this new situation would fit.  They had just told one teacher good-bye, and now they had to break in a new one at the end of the semester.  They wanted me to introduce myself first.  I guess they wanted to see if my credentials were up to snuff.


I have five students who are in the beginning stages of learning academic English.  I have not yet asked if I can photograph them or write about them on my blog, so I will just say that I have three students from Asia, one from Africa, and one from South America.  The class is a wonderful mix of ages, abilities and personalities.  All are warm and welcoming.  Some are confident, others rather tenuous about using a language that still seems difficult to speak.  They have formed a rather tight knit bond of support, encouragement, and friendship.  Their respect and love for each other was much evident.  Their respect and support for me was refreshing and uplifting.  I had forgotten what it feels like to have a student make a slight bow when they greet me or speak to me.  I again felt humbled and honored to be shown the respect that foreign students give to a teacher.  I could not stop smiling.  I was so happy.  


It has been a rough five months.  After losing my 34 year old daughter to suicide in late May, I have gone through a long, hard journey of grief that I hoped would lead to healing.  I lost a large part of myself with her death.  Returning to my profession is helping me rediscover another part of myself that I treasure.  


 I have learned that grief can a times be a solitary journey.  I have striven toward finding an equal balance between spending time in solitude and in fellowship.  I think I have been mostly successful in not isolating myself, but I worried that winter would present a challenge when it came to keeping myself busy.  At just the right time, I was called and offered this job.  The timing was perfect.  I needed something to do, something to get me dressed and out the door everyday without putting a lot of pressure or stress on me.


Being back in the saddle felt just right.  I have not forgotten how to ride.  I can still teach gerunds, and vocabulary, and I can still understand early, fearful attempts at using a language that seems very scary to use when it is not your native language.  I am excited about the enrichment that teaching people from other cultures, languages, religions and belief systems always brings into my life.  I am meeting new friends, experiencing new adventures, and using the gift of teaching that God gave me.  I am continuing to heal.  I am moving on into the future.  I know Julie would be very proud of me.  I can almost feel her arm around my shoulder.  I am smiling a lot again.

Julie and Sally - Walk for The Cure 2008

Retired English teacher is going back to work.

Last Sunday, my husband confessed that he reads the "help wanted" ads every Sunday.  I asked, "Are you looking for a job?"  He answered with, "No, just an income."  We've both been retired for about three and half  years now if you don't count the times we've come out of retirement.  If you count those times, we've has been retired for about a year and a half.  He always says, "If they ask me to come back again, the answer is 'no'."  I, on the other hand, am always fantasizing about going back to work.  That is until I think about getting up every morning, getting myself fed, dressed, and out the door any sooner than 9:00 or 10:00 in the morning.  I also get real about my thinking of working again when I remember discipline at the high school level.  Then, there are all of those papers to grade.  That is enough to shock me into being very satisfied with retirement.

Substitute teaching has never been anything I really considered doing.  I did a lot of subbing when I was a stay at home mom.  I would take a sub job when someone at the neighborhood schools had an emergency. Now, after being out of the classroom for six or seven years, I just did not want to fill in on a temporary basis no matter how much I missed teaching, the kids, and the other teachers.

A few weeks ago, I got a phone call asking me if I would consider teaching ESL students in the international program at Colorado State University-Pueblo.  Since the job was quite temporary, just until the end of the semester, and since I would be helping out a friend who needed me to fill in after an unexpected vacancy, I said I would be glad to help out.  Two days later, I was again called and told that the teacher was not leaving after all.  I was ok with that.  Especially when I didn't have to get up early on Monday morning.

I was then asked by a former teacher friend to come and speak with one of her international students who was having some difficulties with his English class.  That was enough to hook me.  I went up on campus, visited with the student, and realized just how much I missed teaching ESL.

Me with some of my former students...

Yesterday, I decided to call the international program to see if they needed me to do anything for just a few days a week.  Before the director of the program could even call me back, the professor over the language institute called and asked me again if I could come and teach for them.  I jumped at the chance.

So, this retired English teacher is going back to work.  I will be teaching five students who, according to TOEFL (Test of English as a Foreign Language) scores, are at the intermediate level.  I will work half days, 8:00 to 12:00, Monday through Friday, starting next week.  The job ends at the end of the semester.  That is only three and a half weeks of school.  I can handle that.

Today, as I drove the few blocks to campus, parked the car, got out and walked to the offices of the international program, I found myself feeling very excited about and quite grateful for this new opportunity.  I love teaching ESL to students who are high school and college age.  I will be meeting some new students from different parts of the world.  I will be kept busy planning and teaching.  I will again be on the campus that I love for many reason.  And, I will get paid.  That seems like a bonus when I am really being able to resume my relationship with a passion that keeps me interested and inspired.

Back Fence Neighbors and Conversations

The backyard of my childhood home is enshrined in a special place of my memory.  Mostly, I have happy memories of that place.  I visit it often when I think of simple times and happy, carefree activities.  After all, it is in this place where I formed my fundamental beliefs about life.  It was there where I established how I thought the world should look, and how it should function.  It was not a dull place, nor was it unexciting.  I think I mostly had an underlying feeling of curious expectancy each time I went into the backyard to play or to observe life.

Life was pretty much self-contained  within the neighborhood of my childhood.  The city block where our home was built was just one block from my grandmother's home, the place where my father and his siblings had grown up.  Across the street from my grandmother's home was the church that we all attended.  Next door to the church was the elementary school where we went to school.  Across the street from the school, at the end of the block where my grandparent's lived, was a small neighborhood grocery where we bought a loaf of bread for our mother and couple of pieces of penny candy for ourselves.  As I said, as children, we seldom ventured far beyond the fun filled few blocks where we lived.

Our neighborhood block was configured in such a way, that sections of the block were more conducive for particular types neighborhood interaction.  The block must have contained about 19 homes that had all been constructed between the years of 1900 and 1924.  Some homes were small bungalow types, while others were large Victorian types.  Some had small lots with no garages or sheds in the back. Other homes were built on large lots.  All of the lots on the block could be accessed by an alley.  In fact, the block had a total of four alleys.  As children, we named each alley in order to have a frame of reference for where to meet if were going hide from the younger kids.  

I noticed that while the kids loved playing in the alleys and observing life from the alley, our parents rarely ventured across the alley to see what was going on in another quadrant of the block.  My mother mostly connected with the neighbor who was her closest confidant on the block.  She was her "back fence" neighbor.  

In my memory, Gordon, that is what we called my mother's "back fence neighbor," forever looms in my mind as the model of what a neighbor should be.  When I was very young, she lived in the house on the west side of our home with her son and daughter, who were twins, while they were in high school.  Her husband passed away when I was an infant or young child.  After her children left home for college, she moved into the small cottage behind the large Victorian house on the east side of our home.  She spent her days teaching home economics at the Colorado School for the Deaf and Blind.  I still remember her coming home after work, driving her car into the garage, entering her little cottage.  Not long afterward, she would emerge from the house into the yard with her hose (the type of stockings her wore!) rolled down around her ankles laced up shoes.  (I'm sure she must have removed her garter belt as soon as she walked in the door!)  She was ready for some backyard fence talk.  

Or, I remember Saturday mornings when my mom and Gordon were each in their own backyard hanging out the laundry.  Before long, laundry time also became a time for sharing some back fence talk.  They talked about everything.  I know this because I used to try and listen in.  Mostly, I was just shooed off out of earshot distance because it was grown-up talk time.  

I love those memories of a time when life seemed so much more simple.  I know there were problems in the world.  World War II was just over.  Money was tight.  Gordon was a widow trying to make it alone.  My mother, an only child, whose parents had died before I was born, must have really appreciated this older woman in her life.  For me, as a child, I saw the importance of having a friend who was a neighbor and neighbor who was a friend.

Now, we live life so differently.  Few of us have backyards, and if we do, the fences are six feet tall!  We no longer hang our clothes out on the line, thank God! Times have definitely changed.  With all of the progress that we have made in the last forty or fifty years, I can't help but think about how much we have lost from those days when we spent time in the back chatting over the fence, or on the porch chatting with the neighbor from next door who stopped by by lemonade on a hot summer afternoon.  I think mostly the art of knowing how to connect to one another in a real live conversation is being lost.  I worry that our grandchildren could start to believe that being shut in the house connected to technology is a good substitute for having a real conversation.  

I love technology and the way it allows me to connect to so many people in a myriad of ways.  I would be lost without my BlackBerry.  I check FaceBook several times a day.  I love my blogging friends.  I love reading their news.  I love learning new things from them.  I delight in their stories.  I laugh at their humorous rendition of what is going on in their sphere of existence.  I am grateful for Skype when I visit with my son in Bangladesh.  I love communication in any form.  Having said all of that, I must say that I am most grateful that I learned the importance of community connections and conversations while I was still a child growing up in my beloved neighborhood in the Shook's Run area of Colorado Springs, Colorado during the '50's.  Those were the days...

Image from orangevinyl.com

My Life As An Educator

In this post, I'm sharing an article that I wrote for the Fall 2010 issue of  "The Colorado Communicator," a newsletter for the Colorado Council International Reading Associate.  Serving as co-editor for this newsletter is one of my "retirement jobs."

My Life As An Educator

A photo from The Herald Democrat recorded my work with Head Start in 1965

During the summer of1965, just before I was beginning  upper level courses that I hoped would lead to a degree in elementary education at what was then Colorado State College, The Office of Economic Opportunity began an eight-week summer program that would launch Project Head Start.  Across the country, there was a rush to hire tutors and teachers to serve the over 560,000 children who would enter this newly created program.  It was my good fortune to be hired as a tutor to work along side of other  early workers in Head Start in beginning a “comprehensible program for preschool children that would meet their emotional, social, health, nutritional and psychological needs."

I wish I had kept a journal of those days because now, nearly 44 years later, my mind is a bit fuzzy about it all. Young and idealistic, I had great dreams about the kind of educator I would become.   Coming of age during the 60's,  I embraced the Civil Rights Movement and the "new" ideas about education, but I also respected and looked up to those who had been in education for a long time.  

My mentor for the summer of 1965 was Idelia B. Riggs.   As I reflect back on her now, I consider this consummate educator as one the best with whom I have had the privilege to know throughout my entire lifetime.  She must have been in her sixties when I was a young college student.  She had already taught everything from kindergarten to college.  She had even been the principal of a one-room schoolhouse at one point in her career.  

Mrs. Riggs knew what children needed to grow and to prosper educationally, emotionally and socially.  She embraced the ideals behind Project Head Start and imparted them to me as she spoke of all of the reasons why she believed the program could be successful.  

She said that the children of poverty in the our local area were beginning school without the skills that other children brought to school.  Sometimes, they didn't even know how to use indoor plumbing.  Yes, in 1965, in our program in Leadville, Colorado, some of the children did not have indoor plumbing.  We had to teach them how to use the bathroom facilities.  Many did not receive proper nutrition at home and were undernourished.  They lagged behind their peers in knowing how to grasp a pencil or how to turn the pages of a book. Many did not know the alphabet.    Many did not know colors or shapes.  They did not have group or personal social skills. 

Project Head Start’s comprehensive program was based on a belief that  school readiness was achieved by giving the children equal portions of playtime, story time, art activities, and basic academic preparation such as learning how to recognize and form letters through reading and writing.  

Our lead teacher, Mrs. Riggs was a very practical woman who put up with no nonsense from anyone.  Her character was stellar.  She saw her role as an educator as one as a public servant.  She was not interested in feathering her own nest or building her career.  She was there for the children she taught and for the families she served.  

In my mind's eye, I see her now.  She is wearing an apron with pockets so she would have "a place for those tissues to wipe a child's nose or tears," or as a place to keep stray crayons, pencils or rubber bands that she might need while she was teaching.  Patient, kind and loving, she was also demanding when it came to giving something your best efforts.  We ALL learned from her.   

Now that I have retired as a classroom teacher, it is nice to reminisce about those days of both my own personal and the national idealism that abounded  60's.   Mrs. Riggs, and the ideals of Head Start, greatly influenced my philosophy of my own role as an educator. I am grateful that I came of age as a person and as educator when programs like Head Start were new and fresh and perhaps idealistic.  Those early lessons and philosophies, rooted deep in my heart,  are still driving my passion today as I serve CCIRA in supporting teachers as they strive to make sure that all children are on The Road to Literacy. 

Bittersweet Summer

Summer 2010 won't be over for a few days.  Officially, Fall 2010 begins on September 22.  Ever since Labor Day, my family and I have been expressing to each other how happy we will be to put this past summer behind us.  Certainly, our individual lives and the collective life of our family was changed in ways we never could have imagined on Memorial Day Weekend when my fourth child took her life at the age of 34.

As a family, we love to be together.  Each personality of each of my five children is unique.  Taught never to be afraid of individualism, it seems that my children have always majored in expressing that individualism in unique ways.  A well defined sense of self has always been articulated in intelligent, funny and sometimes overpowering ways whenever the family is together.  Let's put it this way, Thanksgivings are not boring at my house if everyone is home.  Political and religious views many times are on opposite ends of the spectrum, and my kids love a good argument.  I've often pitied the poor soul that had enough courage to marry into this family because it can't be easy to run with this tribe if one is faint of heart.

None of my children or grandchildren live near me.  The closest family lives about 120 miles from me.  We don't get together often enough.  In fact, in the past ten years, it takes a pretty major event to get everyone home at the same time.

When Julie passed away, the first thing on everyone's mind was getting the youngest member of the family home.  Jonathan and his wife and young son were all half way around the world away in Bangladesh.  It would be three long days before they were able to arrive in the Boulder, Colorado after making the long, sad journey home.  Our hearts were full of grief and happiness at the same time when we were finally able to all gather together safely at the home of my third child.  Her home officially became the headquarters for all events that followed and the hotel that housed the surviving siblings, their spouses and all seven of the grandchildren.

Looking Over the Back Fence
(I think there was a blind kitten who lived there)

Breakfast on The Back Deck

My grandchildren give me great hope for the future and fill my heart with gratitude and pride.  I hope that they will remember the time that they had together as a time of healing as well as a time of sorrow.

I know that for me, because I was surrounded by the strength of my children and the youth and beauty of my grandchildren, I will look back on the Summer of 2010 not just with grief and sorrow, but with a sense of bittersweet memories of time we all spent together loving each other, crying together, and trying to make sense of the tragic event which had just occurred to us and to our loved one who left us way too young and way too early.

My Beautiful Granddaughters

My Handsome Grandsons

This photograph has become a very special one to me as it captures the grandchildren gathered together playing a board game next to a table that is coved with the bright, colorful daisies that were the family flowers for Julie's services.  Life does go on for those who remain.  Families come together and celebrate just being together even in wake of unspeakable loss.