Weeping may endure for the night

 ....but joy comes in the morning. Ps 30:5

I have a mug decorated with this psalm and an image of sunrise over farm fields by William Schickel, my friend's grandfather, that my mom gave me. It's one of my favorites because of the words, the image, the giver, the artist, the weight of the mug. Usually, it brings me a little joy in the morning as I lift the mug to my lips for those first, most delicious, bitter, enlivening sips of coffee.  

But lately, mornings are hard. 

After asking for prayers last week, I packed suitcases for me and for the nine year old as we were flying to San Diego to help our oldest daughter move to her first apartment. She didn't really have much to move, but I knew I wouldn't have time to visit when school started, and this weekend was open, so we booked cheap tickets for a flight Saturday to Wednesday. My daughter was thrilled we were coming. 

Then Saturday morning, as we were heading to the airport, I got news that the funeral for my friends' son, Sean, was going to be Tuesday.  My husband urged me to go. But then my daughter was visibly disappointed when I mentioned it after she picked me up.  Here I was with my living daughter. Should I book another flight to go to the funeral of my friend's son and leave her?

I lay awake that night debating and trying to work out various scenarios in my mind. Originally, I was thinking I would try to go to the visitation Monday and then fly back to Austin from Chicago.  But I also didn't want to desert my own daughter. On the other hand, my other college friend in Chicago, the godmother of the boy who died, encouraged me to come if I could make it. Finally, I decided not to go to the visitation, but to fly out Monday evening for the funeral Tuesday, and return Tuesday night for one more dinner and breakfast with my daughter. This also meant I could leave the nine year old in San Diego, and I would have all day Sunday and a half day Monday with my daughter. We stopped in a thrift shop for a black dress and shoes, and then we did some move in work and visited with San Diego friends, had a good dinner and a good breakfast and good coffee, and then oldest daughter dropped me off again at the airport. 

It all fell in to place, even though my flight was delayed five hours, and I arrived in Chicago at 3:30 in the morning, I ubered to my other friend's house and lay in the dark a few hours, trying again to sleep, and then got ready to go with my other friend. (These were the two college friends I met up with for our 50th birthday celebrations. And that day was actually this friend's birthday. She won't ever forget it.)

What can I say? It was a blessing to be at that funeral with hundreds and hundreds of others - family and friends, the high school and middle school cross country teams, the swim team, the teachers and faculty, families from the community, members of the church. This family had been at the school for nearly 20 years between their 4 kids, who all were baptized and confirmed at the same church. My friend's son was an altar server, a good student, an avid athlete, a friendly, cheerful, loving little brother. His parents both spoke. I don't know how. There wasn't a dry eye among the hundreds there. To start his homily, the young priest read from Sean's eighth grade religion essay, for which he won an award. "We do not need to fear suffering and death because in the end Jesus's cross always wins." 

Surely he is a saint in Heaven now, enjoying the company of other young saints whose families miss them immensely, even though they know they should rejoice. 

Just being at that Mass was worth the trip.  I knew I might not get a chance to really talk to my friend. Only immediate family was invited to the cemetary, but there was a luncheon afterwards for family and friends. I happened to be walking out of the bathroom at the luncheon when my friend walked in the door. We hugged and cried and cried. All I could say is "I love you."  That was enough.

We did get to visit a little more near the end of the luncheon, the three of us from our college group, plus my friend's husband who also was a classmate. We were a little group of college friends who had bonded while running track and cross country thirty years ago. We went to each other's weddings. We were pregnant together when we lived in Chicago for a few years - we had a shower for ourselves when I was pregnant with my fourth, the daughter I had just left, and my friends were each pregnant with their oldest children.  Years later they came to visit Coronado. We met for coffee or happy hour a few times when I had layovers in Chicago. Then there was a meet up at a Notre Dame football game, when we plotted to get together for our birthdays. Over the years, we have seen each other only a handful of times, exchanged Christmas cards, kept up on social media, but those connections made in college are strong. I am so, so grateful.

And so we wept again, talking about our babies. And I, who hardly ever sheds tears, cried again when I told my daughter and my mother and my husband about this beautiful, tragic funeral.  I don't know when joy will come again for my friend. Mornings are probably still full of weeping, as she wakes up, if she even sleeps, knowing her little boy won't be waking up. Her husband asked people to talk about Sean, to remember him, saying:  "Don't be afraid that saying his name will make someone sad. We're already sad. Instead it will bring us joy to know that others remember his spirit and that his memory is being kept alive."

May healing come, and maybe one day, joy.

Here is an article from their local paper: https://www.thehinsdalean.com/story/2023/07/27/news/funeral-mass-honors-life-of-14-year-old/6569.html

A prayer request

Life is so entangled with beauty and tragedy.  Earlier in the week, I granted my senior's request to go to the beach with her friends. This meant driving four hours each way.  Selfishly, I wanted a day at the beach also, so I took her and four friends and our nine year old to Port Aransas on the Gulf Coast.  It was a long drive, but the hours flew by listening to the girls and daydreaming about the future - my constant indulgence.  Sinces temperatures have been over 100 degrees every day for weeks, I keep thinking about where we could move.  We don't have an intentional plan, even though we talk about different options for the future - farm life? A mountain or beach house? A small home in a small city and then travel? Where do we want to be in ten year where the kids will want to come and visit us? Should we find someplace central, someplace easy to travel to, or live close to one kid or another or our parents? It's hard to know when they are scattered.  

The drive was worth it - the oceanfront was cooler, and the water was refreshing, although choppy and brown and some tar was on the beach (remnants of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill that was happening when we lived in Mississippi, or from some other oil rig?).  We went into the town for ice cream and tourist shopping (tshirts and hermit crabs, anyone?), went back to the beach for more waterplay, and then got more food for dinner before heading back. The youngest and I went to a birding area while the older girls shopped. It was a restorative day.

But now I have news of a tragedy. My good friend from college has lost her fourteen year old son in a random, freak accident, a mother's worst fear.  A Jeep exiting a car wash went out of control and hit him as he was walking on the other side of the street.  Tragically, she was driving to meet him and saw the accident. We were all praying for several days while he was on life support that he would survive, but he never recovered brain activity. Their family is shattered. I can't even comprehend the depths of their grief, and yet I sit here imagining it. I have lay awake nights fearing these kinds of accidents, plotting ways to keep my kids safe. And yet there is no way to prevent every accident. No way to predict all the ways life can end.  A reminder that all our plans for the future may come to nothing and all that worrying is for naught. 

While we were praying for the miracle that my friend's son would live, now we pray for the miracle of healing for their hearts.  

What have I done

The last few weeks I have spent prepping to be a 7th and 8th grade ELA teacher. 

As I wrote earlier, initially I said no to this job.  I hadn't been looking for opportunities to teach middle school, although I had thought about teaching high school.  When this one came up, I declined because I wasn't sure I wanted to quit my college jobs to teach middle schoolers. I loved being on campus around the students. I had enough classes lined up plus writing center hours to make a nearly full schedule with Fridays off. I have a daugther who's a senior who needs me. 

But I kept thinking about teaching at the kids' school - it was keeping me awake at night and absorbing my thoughts during the day. Although I knew I'd rather teach high school than middle school, I kept thinking maybe it's time I step into full time teaching, and perhaps this was an opportunity I shouldn't pass up - the door was open to a convenient and rewarding (albeit challenging) job. If I ccouldn't stop thinking about it, maybe this was a call. I'd like being at the same place as the girls. And going to Mass is a part of the job! But still I hesitated.

Then the principal called me back at the end of June and asked again if I would consider teaching maybe as a long term sub. Since I hadn't stopped thinking about whether to switch directions in my life to become a school teacher instead of an adjunct, I thought maybe this was a sign. I like feeling needed. The school lost several staff and faculty, and by midsummer had only filled about half the spots.  They needed me!  Another friend and my aunt both talked abut how much they enjoyed their middle school classes. Feeling altruistic, I said yes, I would take the job - if I could still teach the great questions seminar, which means leaving school early two days a week for 8 weeks. The principal said yes. 

For about a week, I was excited about it. I checked out 30 books from the library about teaching. I talked for a long time to my aunt who recently retired. She sent me all kinds of useful Google docs and gave me great ideas about interactive lesson plans - a huge help. I started digging into my old home school grammar stuff and reading the summer reading assignments and making lists of novels to potentially assign.

But this week, I have woken up with the pit in my stomach thinking, what have I done? What was I thinking? I've walked away from a good thing into a hard thing. How will I keep up with it all? This is the same pit in my stomach I had when we decided to move and buy this house two years ago. I lost ten pounds that summer. 

Ah me. It seems my weakness is being malcontent. 

My husband, who initially encouraged me not to take the job, is now trying to help me see this as an opportunity for spiritual growth. It's for the good of others - like doing a year of service after college.  It also could be my penance, my time in purgatory, for my lack of gratitude for what I have, for my inability to rest in the goodness of the present.  And maybe I'm just suffering from nerves - anxiety about the unknown. If I stay focused on what needs to happen next, I don't feel quite as overwhelmed.  My fourth grader is thrilled we'll be at the same place.  My senior wants to redo my wardrobe and help decorate.  I'm jumping into middle grade lit again trying to decide what novels to teach. The textbook is only so-so (another reason I started to second guess my decision), so I need to come up with a list of texts to supplement. 

I've been thinking a lot about my aunt who passed away and how she loved and inspired her students. She had enthusiasm and a sense of humor, and a love for literature and a heart for young people. She might have questioned my jumping ship from adjuncting to middle school, but she would, I think, have praised teaching as a job like no other - incredibly difficult, but incredibly rewarding. She may be my patron saint.