The greatest gift

Just a few days ago, we had a lockdown practice in my classroom with my second grade students. One of the boys in that class, the one who didn't do as much talking during our practice, the one who took it a little more seriously, is moving away this evening. I just found out about it three days ago. His father walked into the school earlier this week and told the office staff that they were moving. Far away, to another state.

Yesterday, the boy was absent, and I worried that I wouldn't see him today. I wanted to give him all his things, his papers, his supplies, and some special things from his classmates, and from me, to remember us by.

While he was out yesterday, the kids and I made him a huge letter/poster out of chart paper. They told me what to write, and then they decorated it with stickers and drawings, signed their names, and wrote their own "I love you" and "We miss you!" messages.

I thought I was going to have to mail it to him.

Imagine my surprise and delight that he came to school today! I was able to hug him, and tell him how much we were going to miss him. The other students were able to do the same.

At the end of the day, I gave him his progress report, and told him to make sure his daddy got it, and that I would send one to his new school, so his new teacher would know how he was doing in my classroom. I hugged him one more time, kissed the top of his head, and said goodbye.

He nodded. He was excited about the move. He said he was going to miss "this" class, indicating the little group I pulled into the trailer each day. I told him we were going to miss him even more.

I'm probably never going to see him again. Where they are going it is very cold, to a great city in Illinois, near Lake Michigan.

I regretted that I had not thought to bring my camera with me today to get his picture with his classmates, the three of them. They've been very close these past few months since school started. So cute, the three of them, giggling in the closet the other day. Always they find something to giggle about.  I would have loved a photo of him to remind me of his contribution to our classroom.

So when I saw that video my friend had emailed to me, I was already feeling a bit sad, and tired because it was nearly 6:00 pm. The day had been long, and I still had the fall festival to attend at school. Where would I get the energy to keep going?

That video made me cry because I often complain (to myself, to my husband, and sometimes to my girlfriend and my son) that I'm tired, that I wish I didn't have to put in so many hours to get my work done.

When I think about the devotion Mr. Hoyt has for his son, watching him carry his boy during the marathon race, towing him in the swimming race, knowing of the passion and compassion that drives him forward each and every day since his little baby boy came into this world suffering from brain damage, it made me realize that I give much less than that to my family.

That I could have his depth of devotion.

But could I? Have that depth of devotion? Could it just have been moved to another aspect of my life somehow? It just doesn't show up in the family framework like it once did, when I was a younger mother. Where did it go? I love my family, but the time I now spend taking care of home and family matters has dropped considerably since I became a teacher.

My adult son is healthy and taking care of himself now, supporting himself, putting himself through school. And my husbandis also healthy, supporting us, preparing for retirement, taking care of the home and property. They mayneed my emotional and spiritual support, just to know that I'm there as mom and wife and friend. But I really doubt our needs as a mature family are the same as they were twenty five years ago.

I wonder if all that devotion that I had for them, when my son was a baby, then an adolescent, a teen, a young adult, has simply been transferred to my work, and to my students. Quite possibly.

The tears I felt earlier tonight washed away some of the guilt I had felt about ever thinking that I worked too many hours. I understand why Mr. Hoyt lives for his son, and why the son lives for his father. There's no greater gift than to give one's life for another.

The video reminded me that you don't have to die to give your life for another. A life lived to enrich another or others, to prepare, to educate, to heal, nurture, advise, direct, motivate, inspire, and to love another is worth any sacrifice one must make in the course of a lifetime. Whether that devotion is directed toward one's family or one's calling, the intent is the same.

It's about giving to and serving others. There is no greater work than this.

I returned to the fall festival earlier this evening with a substantial amount of energy, a renewed heart, and a feeling of joy. I had fun, and I even dressed up for the occasion: A black wizard cape trimmed in red, and an elegant wizard's hat trimmed with soft purple feathers.

                                                       

I came home late this evening, after our school's fall festival, and I downloaded some photos I had taken of tonight's events. As I was organizing the photos, and filing them to their appropriate folders in my picture program, darn if I didn't find a photo I had taken of the kids during their first two weeks of school. I have a picture of him after all!

I'm going to print and post it on a special wall in my room so the kids won't forget their little friend. And so I won't forget his sweet little face, and to remind me to pray for him and his very large family.