Shell Shock

It is a type of shell shock. I look at the videos of the tsunami, the devastation, and I read the stories about the potential nuclear disasters, and I feel nothing. I listen to people I work with talking about watching the videos and sobbing, or being so very upset, and I can't relate to it. I feel like an awful person, because I can't 'connect' with this event.

Maybe it is because of the anti-depressants I have been on for ten plus years. My doctor says that feeling 'flat' is one of the side effects. But, I don't think that is it.

Maybe it is because I am attending a funeral tomorrow. For a young man, who died far too young. For a young man that had the best possible parents, sisters, opportunities, and in the end, it didn't keep him safe, didn't keep him here.

No parent should have to bury a child. This is not how it is suppose to be. This is not the first funeral of a child I have been to. One was a few months old, another in grade three, and another young man killed on another winter highway. My son's dear violin teacher, died at 33, of meningitis. My grandmother, buried her youngest son, my father. That is not how it is supposed to be.

But this young man - I knew his mother when she was pregnant with him. He played with my son at my house. My son played with him at theirs. There were birthday parties, and camping at Okanagan Lake, and Christmas parties.

Although the boys' friendship did not continue, I kept abreast on his life through his mother's eyes. Through his father's eyes. Through the eyes of parents that loved him so powerfully. It wasn't enough to keep him safe. Not in the end.

We like to believe that a mother's love, father's love is all-powerful. But it isn't. It can't prevent date-rape. It can't prevent suicide attempts. It can't prevent deep, deep sadness. It can't prevent illness. It can't prevent accidents. It can't prevent those slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. It wants to, but it can't. And, when those awful things happen, even though we think it isn't possible, we get through it. We get through it.

My friend's love for her son is huge. Huge like her heart. Huge like her strength. My friend's love for her son can see all the pieces of the puzzle that have come together to see the 'rightness' of this moment in time. There is a 'rightness' in each moment in time. Sometimes we are just too close to see it.

I believe the funeral will help. Help snap me out of this shell shock. But then I am afraid that once I begin to cry, I won't be able to stop. Because, it seems, at this moment in time, there is so much to cry for.

never enough

To be a teacher is to never be enough. One successful event, but don't rest on your laurels, don't enjoy the high, move on to the next 'event'.
Finish one block, begin another. Finish one grade, begin another. Finish one concert, start preparing for another.
Sit in meetings where parents get to infer, intrinsically, or extrinsically that you are not enough. Not for their child. You disappoint. You misunderstand. You make mistakes. You, are not enough. You are just never enough.

So, I give up. At least for this one child, for this one family, in this moment in time. I give up. Perhaps they are right. I am clearly not the right teacher for this child, not for this family, not at this time.

I have been the right teacher for dozens upon dozens of children. But, not for this one.

I cannot win. There is nothing to win. I want them to see that I did my best, but I truly believe they did not do their best. So we are even really. Because I am sure they think just the same. They did their best, but I did not do my best.

Sometime in the future they will 'get' that actually I was a good teacher for their child. Someday, or maybe in our next meeting in another lifetime, they will 'get' that for five years I was the right teacher for their child.

But soon it will end. It has to end. I cannot do this anymore. And there are still dozens of students that need me, and dozens of parents that want me to be their child's teacher.

Sometime enough is enough.