The Five Stages of Grief and the Pandemic

     The five stages of grief, as identified by Elisabeth Kubler Ross and David Kessler, are as follows: The five stages, denial, anger, bargaining, depression,  and acceptance are a part of the framework that makes up our learning to live with loss. They are tools to help us frame and identify what we may be feeling. Here are my own, personal, thoughts about the end of the school year and the Corona Virus Pandemic.

• Denial: What?? It's bad enough that we have to close schools? Can't we just keep it business as normal for one more week, until Spring Break, when the buildings can be thoroughly decontaminated? Sure! The kids can eat breakfast and lunch in the classroom to keep the number of students congregating to a bare minimum. It's only for a week. Why have I not heard anything about this crazy virus until about a week ago? How did it get this bad so quickly? Is this some form of a terroristic threat? How will I know if my students are alright? How will I know if my family is alright? I was going to go wedding dress shopping with our daughter, then go to the farm to see my parents. All of a sudden, travel was “strongly advised against,” and leaving the state was prohibited. Practically overnight! This is serious!
• Anger: So angry!! I can't see my parents. I can't see our kids. I'm stuck at home. Digitally teaching.....four-year olds. Yeah, right! Pity party? Damn straight! I've been teaching for 37 years, almost all in early childhood. I have a masters degree. Life, as I've known it, has always centered around teaching. Teaching is supposed to be a face-to-face, hands-on, profession—not a digital one. I didn't get into teaching to teach from a laptop! I just didn't! I NEED the laughter, tears, challenges, and successes that come from watching my little people grow and learn. Spring time is my favorite time to teach! We've incubated eggs, watched caterpillars make cocoons and hatch, then let them go on the playground, we've planted seeds and watched them grow. This is the time we celebrate all that we have become over the course of the school year! Poof! Gone.

• Bargaining: Well...maybe we could just go see our kids at their homes? No. Maybe we could have small groups? Nope. We could be carriers and not know it, thus perpetuating the spread of the virus. How can we have relationships with our kids if we have to do it through a screen? When you're teaching the littles, they have to rely on their parents to get them online, to help them do the activities. My little people can't do this on their own. This isn't how the end of the school year was supposed to be! How can we fix this? Bottom line---we can't.
• Depression: Where I currently am. I went to school today in order to prep my room for summer cleaning. It was like a time warp. The count-down caterpillar was still on 117 days of school. The calendar was on March 13. Frozen in time. It was weird! The whole time I was there, I kept hearing the funny phrases and laughter of the children who should be in the classroom. Depressing? You bet!
• Acceptance: I'm not there....yet. It's going to take me awhile. This isn't how the year was supposed to end. We were supposed to have a small program and sing some song for our parents. We were supposed to celebrate our school family, together! Cheated? Definitely! It's going to take some time to process and accept this.

If I'd Only Known...

This post has been taking shape in my head for about a week now.

If I'd only known...

I would have made that drive to Nebraska in February when I had a three-day weekend.

If I'd only known...

I would have made more of an effort to see our children and granddaughter.

If I'd only known...

I would have spent more time doing things outside the house with my husband.

If I'd only known...

I would have spent more time visiting with local friends and colleagues.

If I'd only known...

I would have hugged my sweet students a little harder before they left for what we thought was the weekend.

If I'd only known...

Stupid Covid

     Who knew that the last time I would see my precious preschoolers again, in person, would be months away when I said, “I love you! Have a great weekend! On Friday, March 13^th? Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think our time together would be cut short by an entire quarter of school! That's what this crappy viral pandemic did, though!

     I spent the weekend, putting things from winter, Valentine's Day, Dr. Suess Week, and Dinosaurs back in their correct tubs in the basement. I pulled out the items for Weather, and Planting and Growing. I put it all into my rolling cart, ready to take back to school to work on my lesson plans for the remainder of the school year. My mind was filled with thought and ideas of how to make the rest of our time together exciting and educational.

     I had so much I still wanted to do with them! I had received Growing in a Glove kits we were going to use for planting. I have milkweed seed from my parent's farm that I was thinking of using in a bare spot on the playground to enlist the help of some parents to start a butterfly garden. Thank heavens I hadn't ordered my caterpillars yet! We were going to watch them eat through their special food, make cocoons, hatch into butterflies, and release them on our playground. I was almost ready to get eggs from the county extension office to incubate and hatch. The kids would have loved it!! This is my favorite time of the year and I don't get to share it with them!

     I get it, but I'm bummed. We have to keep the kids, their families, and their families safe. On the flip side, I just feel so cheated. I feel cheated on missing eight weeks of instructional time. I feel cheated on the spring activities and experiences I had planned. I feel cheated out of our Sensory Walk at the nature center, followed by sack lunch and outdoor play in the Children's Playscape. I feel cheated out of making Mother's Day gifts with my kids. I feel REALLY cheated out of the preschool program and graduation. The kids are always so stinkin' adorable. I just want to be with my kids! Stupid Covid! I didn't even get a chance to tell them good-bye!

Tell Your Story-Ripples

I'll never forget the day that the big black car with the two men in full Air Force dress uniforms knocked on the door of our tiny duplex in Lincoln, Nebraska, before school on September 20^th, 1968.

When I was seven years old, my father was killed in Vietnam. He was returning from a routine flight in a fighter jet and crashed just three miles short of the runway. No one can explain the crash or why he was even flying that plane. You see, he was trained to fly the largest planes, the B-52 bombers. Why he was flying a jet remains a mystery. His plane was not shot down, nor did he report any mechanical difficulties. It just went down. My father was pinned beneath the wreckage and it was said that he died instantly. The news of my father's death was so devastating that after the two men left, I remember just sitting on my mom's lap with my younger brother and crying our hearts out.

Later that week, we had to fly to Long Island, New York, because that's where my dad was raised and where the family burial plot was. That where my grandmother wanted him buried, although he could have been buried in Arlington. But he was her only child and she wanted him close. I remember staying at my grandmother's house with a family member during the church service because my mother thought it best my brother and I not go to the church. After the church service, we were picked up and taken to the cemetery for the burial.

Upon returning home, I was so afraid that something would happen to my mom. I didn't want to go to school. I screamed, cried, and hid under the dining room table. I didn't want to go to school. The logic of a seven-year old: My dad dies when I was in school, so maybe my mom would, too. We were at an impasse.

My life was forever changed by two incredibly caring educators. Two women to whom I will never be able to repay my debt—Louise Shuman and Maxine Moore, the elementary school counselor and my second grade teacher, respectively.

At school each morning, my mother would drop my brother and me off at the designated door. One of these ladies would be there waiting for us every day. I remember sitting in Mrs. Shuman's office, talking and coloring pictures. Mrs. Shuman's office provided me a quiet place, a place where I could come to school and feel safe. A place where someone would listen to me, my thoughts, and my worries. Who I remember most, though, is Mrs. Moore.

Mrs. Moore would allow me to come into her classroom before the rest of my classmates each day and doo odd jobs for her. I sharpened pencils, passed out morning work, and did other small jobs for her. These are things she would have normally done herself, but she saved them for me. We would talk, which allowed me to feel comfortable in the classroom before the rest of my classmates arrived. Her compassion, caring, and understanding were game-changers for this scared little second grader. You would have thought the story ended there. It did not.

The next year my mom remarried and we moved to a farm a couple of hours away from Lincoln. Even though we lived in a different community, we still kept the same dentist back in Lincoln. Every time we'd go to the dentist, we'd meet Mrs. Moore for an after-school snack. Secretly, my mom and Mrs. Moore worked together to make sure this happened. Because Mrs. Moore cared that much, she wanted to stay in touch with my family and me. I never did lose the connection that Mrs. Moore and I had built over the years.

After high school, I returned to Lincoln for college. One of the first teachers to influence my young life in a positive way continued to impact me and my future. Mrs. Moore, my second grade teacher, wrote one of my reference letters for my acceptance into the University of Nebraksa-Lincoln. Because of her amazing influence and compassion, I, too, decided that I wanted to be a teacher. I had a dual major in Elementary Education and Early Childhood Education with a minor in music education. Many evenings, throughout my college career, you could find me at Mrs. Moore's home, studying or talking about current trends in education. In addition, on those weekend that I didn't go home to the farm, you could find me enjoying Sunday dinner with the Moore family. The impact that Mrs. Moore had on me when I was just sever years old and the bond we formed lead me to a career in education and the desire to focus on relationship-building in my own classroom.

Now, as I have been teaching over thirty years in the area of early childhood education, Mrs. Moore is on my mind each and every day. She was the first teacher, of so many, to have a positive impact on my life. I do my best to emulate the care and compassion I learned very early on from Mrs. Moore. The relationships that teachers build with their students can be long-lasting.. What I learned from Maxine Moore is that you never know how your influence on the life of a child will impact them! In all that you do, show every child that you love them and want what is best for them. Her care, compassion, and life-long connection started with a little, scared second grade girl who needed her. She had no idea what the long-lasting, far-reaching impact would be. Yet she inspired a life of learning and a life of teaching. Her gentle guidance kept me headed in the right direction. That ripple reaches out in directions and guides in ways we may never know.

Triggers

Triggers

     When a person has been through a traumatic experience(s) and had the resources to com out on the other side, there are still sensory and verbal triggers that can bring it all rushing back. Sometimes it can be a certain smell, like cologne or perfume, or even a food. Other times, certain words or phrases could be a trigger.

     In my case, the first is seeing any type of military aircraft. My dad was an Air Force pilot and his plane went down in Vietnam when I was seven years old. So when we go to football games, and there's a fly-over, I get teary. Every time, even though it was more than fifty years ago.

     Another one is “You owe it to me.” This will almost always force me to curl up inside myself and rock and cry. This is why I take anti-anxiety medication. The phrase may not have anything at all to do with what happened when I lived in California. Just hearing those five words blocks everything else out and I'm back in the moment. Scary stuff!

     The last one has to do with when I taught in Leavenworth and had a parent threaten me. He was referred to DCF (not by me, but another school employee) and this father thought I had made the referral. “I have guns and I'm not afraid to use them.” Holy crap! In addition, he went into the local DCF offices and trashed them, overturning tables, desks, and chairs. The school was put on lock down. However, I was in the original four-room school,” that was not attached to the main school building. This building housed music, art, gym/cafeteria, and my classroom. Because of the classes going back and forth, it was never locked. NEVER.

     My principal came up with a “code word” I was to use on the intercom if this parent ever came out of the gym, toward my classroom. It was “I need a dozen new pencils.” So, you can pretty much guess what happened when this parent came toward my room, which he had a restraining order against doing, but since he didn't need to go past the office, no one knew he was in the building. I locked the door and called the office. I said, “I need a dozen new pencils.” They sent a sixth grader over with twelve new pencils.... It's comical if you aren't living it. It was one of two times I ever dropped the f-bomb on a principal. His code word and he couldn't even get that right. I told him I was done. That if I saw this parent, who had a restraining order, I wouldn't be calling the office. I would be calling the police. Do you know how quickly police respond to a school? I do!

     I say this because we need to be aware of how we talk to people and what we could inadvertently say that could be a trigger. We also need to be aware and think about what we could do to help diffuse the situation if it happens. Helping people who have be through something traumatic needs to be something we think about in the same way we think about, and practice, crisis drills. You can't plan for every scenario, but you can be aware of calming strategies.

#MeToo

#MeToo

     I just finished a non-fiction book (my reading choices are all over the place!) entitled “She Said” by Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey. The two authors are reporters for the Washington Post and won a Pulitzer Prize for breaking open the Harvey Weinstein case. If you will remember, he is the former Hollywood movie producer who was charged with using his power to sexually assault women over several decades. The authors of “She Said” interviewed his accusers, women who were afraid to come forward for fear of repercussions from Weinstein.

The agonizing that these women went through has prompted me to share my stories, in the hope that they will help someone else. Consider it facing my demons and sharing my trauma.  If this post can help someone else, then coming forward will have been worth it!

Story #1: College. For two years I lived on the same dorm floor, but different rooms, on the 13th floor of Abel Hall floor, at the University of Nebraska. I made some awesome friendships there! There were people coming and going all the time! Most of us left our doors open while we were studying so we didn't miss out on anything. It was the early '80's. One evening, I was sitting at my desk, studying when well known football player walked into my room. (He was higher than a kite!). Everyone knew him. He frequented our floor a lot. I said “Hi!” to him. He asked me why I wouldn't go out with him. I told him he'd never asked. He said, "It's because I'm black."At that point he shut my door and locked it. He threw me down on my roommate's bed. I told him that he needed to leave. That if I screamed, he would lose his football career. 

I firmly believe in guardian angels and as luck would have it, my next door neighbor was experimenting with some kind of drug and had passed out. Her roommate had called 9-1-1. So at about the time that I was thrown onto the bed, police and EMT's were on our floor. I said, again, “If I scream, you're done here! There are police right outside the door.” Praise the Lord, he left. If my neighbor hadn't OD'ed, the outcome could have been much, much different.

     The more I thought about it and talked to my close friends about it, I decided it needed to be reported. I reported him. About a week later, the Dean of Student Affairs (ironic name!) called me. She told me to lock my door and come back to the phone. My attacker had just left her office and there were sanctions placed on him. He was angry and headed my way. As I talked to her, I watched his car pull up in front of the dorm. He was met there by campus police and taken into custody by Lincoln Police. His scholarship was revoked. After leaving the university, he ended up a drug addict and went to prison.

Story #2: During my first marriage (Yes, I was married before) my then-husband punched me in the shoulder while I was holding my infant daughter. I went to a friend's apartment. She took pictures. The bruising went into my right breast, he hit me so hard. As soon as I could make arrangements, I flew back to Nebraska (We were living in California at the time). Because he made some lame-ass promises that I believed, after about three weeks, I went back (I know. Stupid!). About a year later, on one of the rare nights he was not fucking his way across Orange County, CA, (pardon the language) he wanted to have sex. I told him “No.” I didn't want any of his diseases. He threw me down on the bed and raped me, as our three year-old cried. Again, I left. I went to the Seattle area to visit my brother and sister-in-law. When I got home, there were sparkly panty hose in our daughter's bed. They were not her size. I told him it was one thing to endanger the health and safety of me, who should have common sense and be able to take care of myself. It's a whole new level when you endanger the health of your child. His words were: “You want me out? File.” So that's what I did.  He was served on our fifth wedding anniversary.  I moved all his stuff to the garage and changed the locks on the house. He could only get into the garage to get his stuff. After he moved his stuff, I sold the house and moved back to Nebraska. Long story short, without the gory details, he gave up his parental rights. My current husband adopted our daughter. We never have to see him again.

     Bottom line: Say something. You may give someone else the courage to leave an abusive situation and/or to come forward with their accusations. If you are or know someone else who is, in an abusive situation, get help and get out.

My 2020 "One Word": Blessed

I chose my word even before doing a couple of quizzes that lead you to suggestions for what your word could be and it came out the same, even after the quizzes, so I must be on the right track. This is my third year to choose “One Word” rather than doing the traditional New Year's Resolution. If you've never heard of this concept, here's how it works: Participants choose a word that they feel they want to focus on and/or drive their life for the ensuing calendar year. That word becomes your focus word.

When I first embraced the “One Word” concept, the word I chose was “Peace.” I wanted to be at peace in my personal life and my professional life. It seemed as if whenever I was struggling with something, this word would somehow appear to me in my reading, in a story, or in a conversation and I knew everything would be alright.

Last year, I chose the word “Strength.” As it turns out, at the time, I didn't know how badly I would need this word. While I chose it for a completely different reason, I still needed to lean heavily on strength for many reasons this past year.

This year, I am blessed! We have been married for 30 years, which in and of itself is a huge accomplishment! My parents have celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary (Who knew?!?! They say they did!). We have three amazingly successful children that we are immensely proud of. They have chosen life partners that we couldn't have chosen better for them if we'd tried. We have one incredible granddaughter who seems to excel at anything she puts her mind to.

On a professional level, I have rediscovered my “happy place” in the classroom after a rough year last year (Remember? I said I needed “strength” last year??). I am so thankful for two amazing classroom aides, a staff of caring adults, and an administration that is so supportive, at both the building and district levels.

So, you see, I am blessed! Let's do this, 2020!