Warning: Frazzled Teacher Ahead

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All day today I felt like I should have been wearing a caution tape sash or carrying a big red sign.  Oh, you know, something like- “Warning!  Frazzled teacher! Approach at your own risk!”  Yes, I can laugh now but if I’m completely honest, there were moments I almost cried.

Car duty.  I usually enjoy morning car duty.  Greeting the kids as they arrive at school, lots of hugs and high-fives.  Most of the time, it starts the day on a positive note. Except on days like this…pouring down rain, holding an umbrella, trying to open car doors.  And today I decided to wear a skirt.

Needless to say, I was feeling frazzled as I tried to wring out the bottom of my skirt in the bathroom sink.  Taking the focus off my skirt, I looked in the bathroom mirror.  I’m not sure my hair has ever looked that frizzy.  My first thought-I have a music teacher meeting after school.  It would surely look lovely by then!  I wasn’t sure I would survive the day.

Despite my wet clothes and frizzy hair, the students were coming. Ready or not.  A cup of coffee did provide a little perk.  Then the music started playing, I started moving, and the kids followed in line.  Whole notes, half notes, quarter notes, eighth notes-stepping in rhythm, learning patterns, playing instruments.  And that was just the morning!

Afternoon classes were met with high-fives from our new friend Freddie the Frog.  Songs, stories, dancing, coloring, laughing…maybe a little impatient by the last hour, but I had indeed survived.

Although there was that one little friend who decided to say “we aren’t going to miss you” and “please cry” instead of “we are going to miss you” and “please don’t cry” as we sang our “Goodbye Freddie” song.  Maybe he was feeling a little frazzled today too.

Yes, I am tired.  No, I will not be wearing a skirt to school tomorrow. The music will play again, I will move, and the kids will follow. Freddie the Frog will most surely make another appearance.  And all will be ok because…

TOMORROW IS FRIDAY!

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Instant Friends

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Have you ever experienced an instantaneous friendship?  You meet someone for the first time, yet it seems as if you’ve always known them?  That’s exactly what happened when I met Shannon.  Both of our husbands had new jobs which brought us to Liberal, KS.  She was the wife of a pastor and me the wife of a high school assistant principal.  We both had young children and were navigating a new place, far away from old friends and family.

If you’ve never been to Liberal, well…there is an actual edge of town. You can see nothing but fields for miles and miles in all directions. The town had a Walmart, a few restaurants, and a small shopping center.  We would drive an hour and a half to Garden City, KS just to eat at Applebees.  Needless to say, it was quite an adjustment for both families.

Our move to Liberal was the second big move we’d made in nine years of marriage.  Memories from previous moves brought images of tear-filled goodbyes with many dear friends.  Some of those goodbyes turned into lifelong friendships, but in that actual moment of leaving it felt like our world was falling apart.  As for me, the tears often continued as I adjusted and searched to figure out my place in a new location.  Looking back now I understand that those lonely times strengthened our marriage and brought our family closer together, but oh were they hard.

Soon after we settled in our new home, I heard an advertisement on the radio for a MOPs (Moms of Preschoolers) group meeting.  I’d never been to one of these before but was excited at the prospect of meeting other moms with small children.  There was also a weekly storytime at the library.  My two oldest would be starting school soon, so that would give Ryan (my youngest) and I a fun outing.

It’s funny looking back now, I can’t remember if I first met Shannon at the library or MOPs.  I definitely noticed her at both events with her young kids.  She had such a welcoming smile, maybe we would become friends!  We introduced ourselves, and it wasn’t long before we had traded phone numbers.  At least now there would be a familiar face at storytime and our MOPs meetings.

Not long after school started, Shannon asked if I’d like to go for a walk after we dropped our older kids off at school.  Our youngest kids were the same age, and still enjoyed short stroller rides.  That first walk remains etched in my memory.  We chatted about our families, what had brought us to Liberal, our future plans.  And then Shannon shared the most amazing thing.  From the time they knew they would be moving, she had been praying that God would send her a friend.  I will never forget her words, “I think you just might be the answer to my prayers.”

From that point on, we were inseparable.  Playdates, family dinners, babysitting for eachother…things all young moms desperately need. I’m not sure how I would have survived that year without her.  It felt like we had known each other our entire lives.  She would even laugh and say she must have named her daughter Kelli after me before she even knew me.  And to make the year even more exciting, she soon discovered they were expecting their third child!  So much to plan and celebrate!

Telling Shannon that we would be moving back to Oklahoma for the following school year was not easy.  I dreaded making that phone call.  We were in Oklahoma for the interview and she was in Kansas, having just given birth to their sweet baby.  Terrible timing, but I knew it couldn’t wait.  Always gracious, she understood.  Moving would eventually be part of their future as well.  There were tears and promises to keep in touch.  Despite having experienced this kind of goodbye with friends before-it was not any easier.

Although Shannon and I had become close friends in such a short time, I had no idea the lasting impact she would have on my life. After our move, there were regular phone calls in those first months and even a visit despite the distance between us.  But our communications quickly took a different tone as Shannon was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer.

How could this be possible?  A young mom of three, healthy, no family history…the wife of a pastor.  She fought so hard.  Surgery, treatments, more surgery…and so many prayers.  I witnessed the outpouring of support from their family and friends past and present.  There were also a few misguided individuals who thought if her faith was just strong enough, she would be healed.  Most certainly they did not truly know Shannon.

If ever there was a time in life where I questioned my own faith, this was it.

I had the privilege of spending a week with Shannon and her family shortly before she died.  Oh, my sweet friend-fighting with courage and grace I had never witnessed before. Her cancer had spread once again causing tremendous pain and weakness.  But she was determined we would go shopping, and we did.  She had also planned an outing for us at a lovely tea room, and we went.  I watched as she pushed through, insisting on serving dinner and giving attention to her family-she loved them so much.

Shannon’s kindness as a friend, patience as a mom, and her unwavering faith in the face of terrible tragedy continues to impact my life. We may have only lived in the same town for one year, fifteen years ago, but I miss her.  The grief that she is not here with her family remains.  I keep a picture of the two of us on a shelf in my closet.  When I look at this sweet photo, I think about the power and importance of friends.  And remembering our instantaneous friendship, I am grateful.

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Thankful

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In an earlier blog post, The Struggle for Control, I shared the story of when my husband, Gart, and I were hit by a drunk driver.  At the time of the accident,  I was eight months pregnant with our first child, Robert. This story is multi-faceted, and I was not quite ready to share the following details in my earlier post.  Honestly, I’m never quite sure how they will be received.

The week after our accident I was recovering at home.  Being eight months pregnant with broken ribs was no fun.  My mom was staying with us to help with cooking and housework, etc so Gart could go back to work.  Although thankful we were all okay, there were many moments of worry and anger.  Worry over the baby, anger at the driver who chose to drive drunk, anger at the establishment where he and his friends had been drinking the night before… negative emotions all around.

One afternoon my mom began to share that something strange had happened to her the night before the accident.  She had not wanted to tell me before for fear of upsetting me further.  Doctors orders were for rest and calm.  Not an easy task when you’re feeling worried and angry!  Looking back, her timing was perfect and helped me work through difficult feelings.

Our first baby shower was scheduled to take place the day our accident occurred. My mom and Aunt Linda were driving up from Arkansas, so it was not unusual that we spoke on the phone the night before.  Last minute details, what time they were leaving, what time we would arrive at the shower-a normal phone call.  Except for the added air of excitement as we said, “Love you!  See you tomorrow!”

For my mom, however, what happened next was the furthest thing from normal.

Through her tears, mom explained that right after she hung up the phone that evening before the accident, she heard a voice.  Clear and precise words, ‘That is the last time you will talk to Kelley.” Obviously, she was shaken and tried to put the thought out of her mind.  Where did that come from? Why would she think such a thing?  But the voice would not go away, so she began to pray.

Her prayers continued through the night and during the drive to Oklahoma the following day.  Pulling in the driveway at my in-law’s house, she immediately noticed our car was not there-we should have already arrived.  My brother-n-law came out to greet them and of course, she knew instantly something was wrong.  It is difficult to imagine the fear my mom felt at that moment…

A picture was taken of our car after the accident.  The driver’s side smashed, the trunk pushed in, the windshield broken…but my side of the car looked like it had never been touched-not even a scratch.  I remember someone commenting, “It looks like an angel was guarding your door.”

Psalm 91:11 says, “For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways…”

I’m not sure how to adequately explain these events, yet I choose to believe.  I believe my mom’s prayers were answered.  I believe an angel was sent to protect.  Did I actually see one? No.  I don’t understand the how or why.  Sometimes my thoughts wander, thinking about how differently things could have turned out.  Truth is, none of us are guaranteed another breath, so I don’t dwell in that space for long.

“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow.  What is your life?  You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”  James 4:14

Does this story impact the way I live my life each day?  Not like it should, I’m afraid.  As for today, I am thankful for my mom, who continues to be strong in her faith and persistent in her prayers.  I am thankful for her wisdom in sharing her part of the story with me at just the right moment.  And at this moment, maybe thankful is the best thing for me to be.

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The Innocence of Imagination

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We have a new friend in music class this year, and he is making quite a splash!

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This week, my K, 1st, and 2nd-grade classes have been meeting Freddie the Frog.  Freddie is a cute, green hand puppet who lives on Treble Clef Island.  Books, songs, and lessons teaching basic music concepts accompany this sweet puppet.  Even though I am excited about using these new teaching materials, it definitely takes me out of my comfort zone.  Honestly, I had doubts about whether or not the students would buy in, or if I could convincingly utilize a puppet.

First-graders helped ease my uncertainties.  After telling students I wanted to introduce them to a special friend, Freddie suddenly appeared on my arm.  I explained that he was shy, afraid the kids would not like him.  Their sweet faces showed great concern as they quickly reassured Freddie that they did indeed like him.  We then learned a new song, and students used animal hand puppets to “sing” their new song to Freddie.  Oh my goodness…what a site!

Almost forgot to mention, I’m the only one who can hear Freddie speak. He whispers in my ear, I relay his messages, and students giggle.

Fast forward…Freddie needed to rest while we listened to a recording of one of his adventures.  On the recording, the students would finally hear Freddie’s voice.  His singing voice is a little silly and high-pitched, and a couple of students chuckled as they listened. Then I overheard one little girl (pointing toward the puppet) say, “Don’t make fun of Freddie.  He can hear us!”

Such innocence and imagination.  And it did not stop there.  A few moments later, as students were gathering supplies to color a picture of Freddie’s room, the same little girl snuck over to where he was resting.  She walked right up to him, serious little face, and said, “I like your room, Freddie.”  Cuteness overload.

As class time was wrapping up there were many questions-can I show Freddie my picture?  Can we tell him goodbye?  Can I give him a hug?  So, Freddie accompanied me to the back of the room and hugged each of his new friends as they walked out the door.

I started thinking…why is it the older we get, the less we use our imaginations in creative ways?  Obviously, we must grow up and be responsible adults.  We are quite capable of conjuring all kinds of “what if” situations, causing much worry and fret.  I’ve certainly been guilty.  Often times we’ve had the experiences to back up our fears.

There is no simple solution to this adulthood dilemma.  Maybe if we took a moment to remember what it was like to be a kid…not an easy task I know.  After all, part of our job as parents and teachers is to help kids cope when bad things do happen.  But wouldn’t it be worth it to experience that innocence of imagination once again?

Even if it was only for five minutes…

Robbing the Cradle

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I’m sure you have heard the phrase “robbing the cradle.”  Typically it refers to someone marrying a much younger person.  People have teased me with that old saying upon discovering that I am two years older than my husband.  Of course, he never lets me forget that fact, even though two years hardly qualifies in this case.

On a recent trip to the grocery store, my daughter and I met an older couple.  As the wife turned around from the meat counter, she stumbled but caught herself.  She came to a stop right in front of us.  I asked if she was ok and said something like, “Oh, be careful!”  Very helpful I’m sure, but she smiled and struck up a conversation.

We soon learned that this fashionably dressed, white-haired, make-up wearing woman was ninety-three years old!  She shared her age proudly and thanked us as we commented on how amazing she looked.  Obviously, this woman had some spunk.

As we continued to chat, her husband (I assumed) walked toward us.  When something was mentioned about him watching out for her she laughed and said, “Oh yes he does.  Well, I did rob the cradle.”  Now mind you he was not a spring chicken and walked with a cane, but he had a precious smile.  We chuckled as she shared that she was twelve years older than her husband.  I quickly did the math in my head…so, that makes him eighty-one.

Just when I thought the story was finished, she shared more details.  “I was married to my first husband for seventy years.  And (pointing to her husband) we’ve only been married for three years.”  It took a few minutes for my brain to wrap around what this precious lady was saying.  Seventy years of marriage!  What a story!  I would imagine her current husband also had a story to tell, but he just smiled happily as she told hers.

Later I found myself wishing I could have spent more time with this sweet couple.  Many questions came to my mind.  How old was she when she first married?  What had happened to her husband?  Did she have any children?  How did she meet her current husband?  Answers I guess I will never have.  Unless we happen to run into each other at the grocery store again…you can bet I will be keeping my eyes open.

 

 

 

Connections

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After just finishing the first week of school, I found it interesting that today’s church sermon focused on connecting with others. Being intentional in greeting people, taking time to make connections…things we too often gloss over.  We all have our comfort zone, the same people we talk to, the same path we walk most days.  The pastor this morning reminded us that we never know what the person standing next to us might be going through. Most of us have been in that place of “needing to be greeted.”

While listening to the sermon, I began to reflect on this past “first week” of school.  In my upper elementary music classes, we listened to James Taylor’s “Today, Today, Today” for our beginning warm-up.  Opening lyrics say, “Today, today, today…I’m finally on my way.”  Students were asked to finish that thought, use their imagination and tell me where they were headed.

Their answers were funny, thoughtful, and interesting-ranging from-to the restroom, to lunch, home, grandma’s house, college, heaven.  And then the one that left the room silent,  “On my way to visit my dad in prison.”   As if that wasn’t surprising enough, another sweet student said almost exactly the same thing.  Serious connections.  Right in the middle of music class, two students discover they share a difficult life situation.  And then I overheard these two precious kiddos connect further as one shared they were actually in foster care right now.

I knew at that moment what we were doing was important, but didn’t really give it much thought after the fact.  The week was long, there were so many things to get done.  I was so tired.  Today’s church sermon reminded me of the importance of those connections.  Teacher to student, student to student-we all need each other.  And if I expect my students to listen and learn from me, I must be willing to listen and learn from them.

Here’s to a week of playing some super fun rhythm and singing games in Mrs. Morris’s music class!  And in the midst of our making music, may we also make lasting connections which will help us through the tough days this life inevitably brings.

The Space Between Happy and Sad

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Have you ever experienced happiness and sadness simultaneously? All mixed together, each emotion fighting for control.  I’m not sure I can adequately explain this dilemma.  Writing the words down on paper provides little clarity, as I continue to inch back and forth between these two emotions.

We finally had contact with our friend Marie!  Her new home is not close to us, and her foster mom graciously offered to meet us for lunch.  Rachel and I were so happy to see her!  After seeing her regularly over the past year, this would be our first visit in two months.  There had only been one phone conversation.  I understood.   Adjusting to a new home, especially after all the trauma she has suffered, is difficult, and I wanted her to have the time she needed.

As soon as Marie saw us she hugged us and asked, “Did you miss me?”  Oh, sweet girl!  Seeing her smiling and joking with her foster mom brought great relief.  They have obviously bonded, and she is being well cared for.  When it was time to order drinks her mom asked if she wanted lemonade.  I smiled…lemonade is her favorite.

We enjoyed chatting and laughing over lunch.  Looking through the photo album Rachel and I made for her brought smiles and happy memories from this past year.  So why did feelings of sadness start creeping in when it was time to say goodbye?  I fought back my tears, not wanting Marie to think something was wrong.  And trust me, she would notice.

Where did our visit leave me?  Somewhere between happy and sad, inching my way back to happy.  This sweet child has been through so much, but now she is living in a home with a family.  For that I am thankful.  My role in her life will continue to change, and that is ok.  Yesterday I was teacher and advocate.  Today I am a friend.  And that is something we all need…always.

Marie called this evening.  We talked about the week, her new school, friends, and family.  The conversation was a happy one.  But oh her questions…”Do you miss me?  Will you see me tomorrow?” As our phone call ended, once again I found myself in that space between happy and sad.  Somehow I kept my tears at bay, realizing it would be selfish of me to allow the sadness to win.  At this moment, the reasons for happiness where Marie is concerned far outweigh the sad.

The Voice of an Old Friend

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It amazes that a music composition from 1839, which I learned to play thirty years ago, has such a powerful influence over me today.  Arabeske Op. 18 by Robert Schumann was my absolute favorite college recital piece.  I’ve always found Schumann’s ability to beautifully weave a melodic theme throughout a piece captivating.  He presents the theme, expands it to represent a variety of emotions, and finally restates in a peaceful resolution.  This particular composition clearly follows that structure.

My second favorite Schumann composition is Frauen-Liebe und Leben (A Woman’s Love and Life.)  A song cycle based on a series of poems, each song represents a different phase of the love relationship from first meeting to wedding and finally ending in death.  This lovely depiction of life also follows the structure of beginning and ending with a recognizable theme. In the final song, the piano provides a beautiful postlude,  giving the listener a reminder of the true love represented by the recurring melodic theme.

My memories of playing these two pieces are crystal clear, relating to specific events in my life.

Picture a young, twenty-one-year-old college student, senior year.  The two years previous marked by a difficult, controlling relationship.  An unwise decision to marry this person had ended in divorce after a year and a half.  Now I was attempting to get my life back on track, finish college, and figure out what was next.  Many evenings were spent in a tiny practice room.  And often when I practiced Schumann’s Arabeske,  the tears would flow uncontrollably.

Fast forward nine years-happily married with three young children.  Looking for a job, preferably in the music field.  Directed by a previous employer, I applied for a staff accompanist opening at the Univerisity of Tulsa.  The interview process involved playing a prepared piece and sight reading.  I chose to play the Schumann Frauen-Liebe und Leben since it related to the position, and because it had been one of my favorite recital pieces from graduate school.  There I sat, all alone on that stage, desperately wanting this job.  I played the Schumann with clarity and emotion, sight read confidently and got the position.

So what directed my thoughts to these pieces on this day?  Today was exhausting.  It was the third full day of a brand new school year.  Following a full day of teaching elementary music with the grand finale of car duty, I trudged back to my classroom.  Walking in, I immediately noticed the music sitting on the piano in the corner-Arabeske.  It was like an old friend calling me to the bench.

The simple act of playing the piano always calms my brain.  I’ve experienced this truth many times, so why don’t I take the time to do it more often?  I’m not sure-but today I had no choice.  Sitting down at the piano, I began to play this old familiar piece.  Reaching the last page, playing that final melodic theme, listening to it fade away…I let out a big sigh of relief.  Still tired, but now relaxed and much calmer, preparing my thoughts for the next day didn’t feel so overwhelming.

Will I do this every day?  Probably not.  But hopefully, more often than I have in recent days.  Playing the piano has an undeniable positive influence on my state of mind, and days like today the music sounds like the voice of an old friend…

 

 

 

First Day of School

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Alarm goes off–the moon is still awake

Coffee?  Yes, please!

Today a new school year begins

Morning greetings–nervous smiles

Faces–old and new

Parents–grandparents–siblings

Hugs–goodbyes–tears

Teachers–students–classes–routines

Lunch–recess–specials

First day of school–soooo loooong

Tired feet–happy heart–sleepyhead

See you tomorrow…

School year number ten

Face to Face with Child Abuse: Personal Reflections of a Teacher

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My first experiences with child abuse stem from my years as a special education teacher.  I served students who had difficulty communicating.  The following reflections relate to one particular student who holds a special place in my heart.  Due to the need for privacy,  I will refer to her as Marie.  Not a day passes without thoughts of Marie. Feelings of sadness for her past, uncertainty for her present, but also hope for her future.  Her story has both broken and challenged my heart.

***

Words are powerful.  Even more so the images that accompany them.  Consider the word shelter.  For many of us, this word reminds us of safety and home.  Adding emergency brings much different imagery.  One final word moves us even further from protective pictures of safe and home… children.

Before my first visit to the shelter, my imagination created images in preparation for the experience of a clean building, professional staff, play areas, a visiting room.  The scene played out as follows.  A greeting from a smiling worker.  An onsite visit in a comfortable seating area.  After all, this facility provided care for children who had experienced trauma.

When map quest directed me to turn down a gravel road blocked by an iron gate, my previous notions of what the day would bring faded.  A quick phone call put me back on track, giving two guiding landmarks.  Passing the second landmark, I noticed an older, run-down, unassuming house.  This could not be the right place.  Private Property and Video Surveillance signs posted in the driveway prompted feelings of nervousness and uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, I walked to the door, spoke to the cat on the porch, and rang the bell.  A calm, quiet proprietor answered.  Precious Marie stood nervously at the back of the house.  Initially, she was unsure and did not seem to recognize me.  After seeing photos from when she was in my class, one a selfie of us on the playground, she smiled. You were my teacher!  Yes!  She did remember.  Uncertainties quickly turned to smiles, hugs, and laughter.

My visions of a visit to the home vanished as I spotted her backpack on the table.  My young friend was ready to go!  Now there were completely different reasons to be nervous.  Where would we go?   The area was unfamiliar to me, but we could find shopping and food!  A trip to Walmart produced a doll, nail polish, and a new outfit.  We had lunch and painted nails while sitting at a local fast-food restaurant.  Looking at old pictures and taking silly selfies helped us to get reacquainted.  Returning to the shelter, I reassured her that I would visit again soon.

As I drove home, my earlier thoughts of shelter shifted from place to person.  Safety and security in my life came from the people placed along my path.  Now I had the opportunity to provide this for Marie.  I know she is not my child, but this new focus gives me courage for future visits. 

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My daughter Rachel attends college, studying to become a special education teacher. She accompanied me on my second visit. Her presence provided calm and confidence. 

Our day was well planned.  After checking in at the shelter and signing out our young friend, we were ready to go.  First stop the zoo, then lunch, and finally shopping. I am not sure who was more excited about this outing!

I have witnessed Rachel interact with friends who happen to have disabilities on many occasions.  She treats them as peers, spends time with them socially, and has typical conversations.  She is also a passionate advocate for these special friends, always looking for ways to help them realize their potential. 

This particular day proved no different.  She embraced this precious girl with love and patience, looking for ways to give her independence and choices.  In instances where I would have made suggestions for Marie, Rachel recognized the importance of Marie having control over as many things as she could handle.  Following the zoo map, choosing what animal to see next, ordering pizza, and picking out sunglasses might seem insignificant. 

Although it was easier for me to visit the shelter this time, it was much harder for me to leave…

Rachel and I chatted on the drive home, recounting all the experiences of the day.  What a beautiful day!  We talked about the future,  what it will hold for Marie and what role we might play.  When I began to feel overwhelmed with questions about what lies ahead, Rachel calmly reviewed the events of these pasts few months. She reminded me of the circumstance that brought us to this day; receiving a subpoena to testify at a child neglect reliability hearing.

One step at a time, words of wisdom from my daughter as we headed home.  And a reminder when friends and family say Rachel takes after me,  the truth is I want to be more like her when I grow up…

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Do you enjoy being alone?  I must admit I do not.  Although necessary at times, it is not a state I would often choose.  Others in my family seem to relish alone times, focusing on their particular interests.  Now consider the word isolation-it provokes a sense of being forced to be alone, having no control over our circumstances-an unpleasant solitude.

What if you were intentionally left alone without the warmth of human companionship?  Feelings of abandonment seeping in slowly.  Dwelling on these thoughts makes me sad and angry. 

A social worker visited our home for an assessment to determine if she would be allowed to visit…proceeding with caution.  Her love and care for this sweet girl were evident.  Although she knows terrible things from the past, she chooses to hope for the future. Most of our conversation stayed in that realm, thankful for current shelter, safety, and happiness.  Until she mentioned a fear of being alone in a room with the door closed.

My knowledge of the abuse suffered involved physical harm, and those incidences were over four years ago.  I had not allowed myself to think about what happened in the years following.  But now I heard this word-isolation-bringing a completely different understanding of what she had endured.  Imagine having the scars from being physically harmed, but also from intentional separation. Withholding the most basic human needs. We are talking about a child with intellectual disabilities, helpless to escape the cruelty imposed upon her.

I am not sure how to process this information.  If that is my reaction, imagine the difficulty for Marie.  There is no comparison, and at this moment, no sufficient answers.

***

When I consider my own children, the thought of them suffering or experiencing any kind of trauma is unbearable.  I want to be the best parent I can be.  Parenting is hard, bringing many responsibilities and challenges.  But it also produces rewards.  For example, hearing them call me mom is music to my ears.

One of the most thoughtful gifts I received from my husband was a sound wave print of my children saying, Mom. Hanging on the wall in our home makes me smile.  Am I a perfect mother?  Of course not!  But my children know they are loved.  My heart aches when they’re hurting and soars when they’re content.  The job of a mother is to love and protect.  That need is present from the moment a baby enters this world.  What happens when love and protection are replaced by isolation and abuse?  The results are devastating, creating lasting memories and trauma hard to overcome.

My mom is mean is not a phrase you hear every day.  Yes, I know kids sometimes exaggerate and say things that are not true.  Is it possible my own children thought I was mean at some point?  Oh yes.  I have even used the words mean-mama voice when talking about discipline.  I will think twice about using those words again.

Tonight I was talking on the phone with Marie.  She has temporarily moved from the shelter she called home to a behavioral assistance facility.  Rachel and I have been visiting her twice a week, and she calls us almost every night.  Our visits consist of coloring, games, reading her stories, looking at pictures, and laughter.  Phone calls are difficult. It is often hard to understand her. And the whole process is made more difficult by her disability.

Some moments, however, are crystal clear-tonight was one of those times.

Marie told me her counselor came today. She said they talked about her mom.  I was caught off guard at first, not sure what she would say.  And then the words came, my mom is mean.  She went on to recall how her mom would hit her at their house.  Hearing a child say their parent hurt them…I know she said more, but her words started to blur.  The truth is, I already knew her words were not an exaggeration.  I saw the bruises when she was younger, asked her what happened. I heard her say, my mama. I filed the abuse reports.  Then the family moved, and the abuse continued.  The abuse continued for four more years.

How was I supposed to respond?  The only thing I could say was, I am so sorry-moms are not supposed to act that way.  My heart hurts.  Words are not enough.  We will continue to visit, encourage her to talk about the hard things, and hopefully show her what it means to love.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. I Corinthians 13:7

***

Where does this story begin?  Each time I think about the answer, I find myself unable to choose just one point in time.  The decision to become a special education teacher, the first time I met Marie, filing the first DHS report.  These events culminate with this one story which has changed my life forever.

Many of my memories associated with Marie are sad, the kind of memories I would rather bury.  Before receiving the subpoena to testify at the reliability hearing, I had blocked specific events.  Four years had passed since she was my student.  And though I would never forget her, some things were just too hard to remember.  Until the day it became necessary to remember.

My heart sank at first sight of the word subpoena in my school mailbox.  There was no question who the notice concerned.  I followed the instructions on the letter and soon received an email filled with documents. Uncontrollable tears came as I read my own words from the reports I had filed.  And with them, the images I had worked so hard to bury.

I read, re-read, reviewed, made notes, whatever was needed to prepare for this hearing.  My testimony, if accepted by the judge, would provide a voice for Marie.  I was naïve in my hope for a settlement after the initial hearing.  That was not the case.  A trial date was set, and I would need to testify once again.

And so my reviewing continued, this time for the trial.  Sleepless nights, floods of unpleasant memories, and tears filled the space leading up to that day.  We have all watched courtroom scenes, real and fictional on television.  None of those could prepare me for the reality of testifying.  Being sworn in, sitting next to a judge, the jury on one side and the mother on the other.  A surreal experience.

My testimony provided details of events that happened years earlier.  Speaking with clarity and emotion, I remained strong in the face of a cross-examination which attempted to discredit everything I said.  Some images will never be erased from my memory. I made sure everyone in the courtroom understood that truth as I testified through my tears.  A tremendous weight accompanied this responsibility to speak for this one who could not speak for herself.

Relief, after the trial ended, was short-lived and replaced by concern for Marie.  Where was she?  Was she ok?  I knew I had to see her if at all possible.  Would she remember me?

My first visit to that shelter was just the beginning. My family spent the following year investing in this precious girl.  Phone calls, visits, birthdays, and holidays helped make sure she knew someone loved her.  Circumstances have recently changed with a foster home placement, and now I must let go.  I miss her.

***

Why is letting go so hard?  I remember the day we dropped off our son Robert at college.  I cried the entire drive there and back.  Two years later, it was Rachel’s turn.  It was still difficult to leave her in that tiny dorm room alone.  One more year until Ryan graduates, my baby.  Trying not to think about that just yet.

Today brings a different kind of letting go.  I had to let go of someone who was never my child but had found a lasting place in my heart.  Part of me wanted to be her mom.

Accepting that our family is not the final answer for Marie has been difficult.  Recently someone said to me, do you think your family could provide something another family could not. That stung, but it was what I needed to hear.  Suddenly the words letting go began invading my thoughts.  And then it hit me-maybe our purpose had simply been to provide love and friendship during a year of confusion, fear, and uncertainty.  And that was ok.

How appropriate that one year after that first visit, I receive word of foster home placement. Today some of my tears are selfish because I will miss her, but most are grateful-grateful for caring foster parents and a fresh start for our precious friend. 

***

The ending of this story is not clear.  As I patiently wait to hear how my sweet friend is doing in her new home, there is much reflection.  Our time spent with her this past year challenged us and brought us closer together as a family.  We love her, and I believe she loves us, even if we were not meant to be her family.

Marie made us laugh with her questions. Why are you so bossy? Directed toward my husband.  You almost married? Multiple times to my oldest children.  Why you so big? to my six-foot-three youngest son.  She brought tears to our eyes when she thanked us for singing happy birthday to her, telling each of us how pretty we sang.  And left us forever humbled by the way she trusted us…

In our last conversation, Marie mentioned the idea of moving to a foster home.  Her social worker had been preparing her for this possibility.  I asked her if she felt ok about that.  She smiled nervously and said yes.  There was a long pause and then her precious words, but I miss you.

Honey, I will miss you, too.  Always remember, what are we?

My friends.

Yes, sweet girl…always.