I’m with my Assistant Principal to finalize paperwork concerning her recent observation of me teaching a small group of students. Her office is well-lit with florescent lights. The circular table is inviting. The chair I sit is in comfortable, a place of refuge after a busy day in and out of six classrooms throughout Finegan Elementary. Mrs. Collier is customarily warm and welcoming. I am at ease even for such a consequential meeting. I ask about her recent walk through a thyroid cancer operation. I’m listening intently, deliberately focused to learn and empathize. I can not imagine going through so many medical treatments, operations and appointments.
After a short pause, she turns to me, “and how are you Ms. Amodeo?’ This is such an uncomplicated question but it undams inside my spirit deep rivers of sadness. Before I am even conscious of what’s happening huge tears are already flooding my eyes. They begin to fall in streams down my cheeks. I am simultaneously relieved to have been asked such a poignant revealing question and embarrassed that I can not stop my grief from spilling up and over into my supervisor’s office. “It’s almost the one-year anniversary of Carly’s death. She was so beautiful. A gift. I’m so blessed. We gave her a great life. She gave us all she had. I have no regrets, but I miss her.” And I’m bawling. I’m surprised that this deep well of emotion was just below the surface, just barely out of reach, until gently nudged.
Graciously Mrs. Collier now becomes the audience for the story of the moment. The story of a special needs child, profoundly handicapped, who found her way into thousands of hearts that now at times ache for her. I regain my composure and we are able to complete the admirative tasks of reviewing, discussing, and signing the paperwork. Then I return to my office.
Fifteen minutes transpire. I’m relating this story to my co-worker. The water works proceed with the addition of snotting up quite a bit. I begin repeatedly blowing my nose, grabbing tissues at an alarmingly rapid pace. Such a pretty sight! The waste container is filling up. I’m wondering what the custodian will think. I can imagine her looking into that waste container with a quizzical look. I am embarrassed at the thought but equally find it amusing. I start to crack up! Ecclesiastes states, ” There is an occasion for everything, and a time for every activity under heaven: a time to weep and a time to laugh.” Trish and I are laughing and crying simultaneously. It is quite a scene; comical even. There needs to be special term for the ability to laugh and cry in juxtaposition. Just like in Mrs. Collier’s office, I am ecstatic that no one is walking in on this “sacred ground” of sharing in some of life’s most painful experiences.
This one-year anniversary is a bigger deal than I estimated. So I laugh, I cry, I share, and I love. Truly, is there more to life that those beautiful things?
Broken but Beautiful 