tears for fears

L.’s service was beautiful, simple, and personal. Her daughters and two friends spoke. I started crying when her eldest daughter talked about her mother’s love of books.

Ever since my mom was diagnosed—two years ago, now—I’ve cried easily. I used to be much less emotional, and I still think of that as my real self. But I’m realizing that this might be my real adult self, a person who cries at movies.

Could be worse. My mother, for example, cries at commercials.

L. was so kind to me when I found out that my mom had cancer. She took me into her office and talked with me, gave me a cup of coffee, told me that I would pull through. L. let me take off school for a week to go stay with my mom at the hospital, in the middle of our senior year, and told me that my mom was lucky to have me.

Many of the people at the service had similar stories.

My classmates re-opened the question whether I should go back to teaching. Maybe if I could find the right school, maybe if I taught older kids, etc. Jean in particular reminded me of the things that drew me to teaching in the first place–a sense of social justice, a desire to help people find themselves. And I know that L. thought I was a good teacher, that I was a valuable resource for the community, and that she would want me to continue with it.

I really question whether I could handle classroom teaching at this point, though. It is the most emotionally draining work I’ve ever done, and at this point, I pretty much wake up emotionally drained every day.