Qualmifications

Every year presents a unique challenge.  I, having not yet learned to keep some in reserve, dive in face first.  I give it everything I have, until my body and my mind give out.  I was tempted to say until my body, my heart, and my soul give out.  I do not, however, think this is an accurate phrase to use.  The heart gives and gives, and I do not think that it ever ceases in its capacity to give.  The soul may hurt, and the soul may quiver, but it is also an essence of some durability and continuity.  The mind is not.  The mind gives in and says, "Screw it! I can’t take any more of this!  I’m off for a quart of milk."  My mind gives out on occasion.  Retreats back behind its defense to nurse wounds and screw up the courage to take another face dive.  This year, like last year, promises heartache along with the triumph.  It just so happens that the heartache of this year may take a much more poignant and twisting form.  

I have challenges in my own classroom, as I usually do.  I have a child I know has suffered from abuse and neglect.  I have children who are autistic, both diagnosed and not yet diagnosed.  One of those sweet angels is moving on Friday.  He is seeing his world shift and change around him, and he does not know how to cope.  The result is that I am spending the majority of every day trying to keep him under some semblance of control, and somewhat content.  This means a lot of lap time, and a lot of personal time.  This means a lot of attempting to divert his attention.  Sometimes successfully.  This means the rest of my class has been getting increasingly out of control.

Beyond that. 

Beyond that there is a little girl.  A little girl with short wispy blonde hair.  Her voice is hoarse, and determination shines through her eyes.  She comes to school, and shares her personality, her wit, and her vivacity with everyone.  She is smaller in stature than the others, and never lacking playmates.  She tattles on her big sister in second grade, because she won’t hold her hand on the way to the bus. 

Please allow me to edit my previous statement. 

Beyond that there are two little girls. 

Both with blonde hair and blue eyes.  One in kindergarten, and one in second grade.  Both extremely intelligent, vivacious, and charismatic.  The second grade child I know from last year.  She would come to class certain mornings, and little blonde with short and wispy hair and blue eyes would coming bounding after her.  Anxious to be a part of school, and her sister’s life.  

As the year goes on our little blonde and wispy baby is bouncing less.  There is still determination burning from her eyes, and she still adores to come to school.  But she comes less.  And when she comes you can see the change.  You can see her fading away.  She had been gone for a couple of weeks, sick with the flu again.  She came back yesterday for half the day.   She is not my student, but because of scheduling and the fact that she came to me for bus dismissal I see a lot of her.  Yesterday she came down the hallway holding on to her teachers hand.  She was walking as best she could, and her legs were just giving out on her.   I took her hand and helped her into the gym, into the chair, where she would sit and watch her friends play.  She smiled at us and said, "My legs just don’t work as well as they used to."  

The hard truth is that we are watching her die.  She has an inoperable brain tumor, and is not expected to survive past this year.  She’s been through chemo, and moved on to other more radical treatments.  Her sister gets in trouble with her teachers, because she is "talking back" and "trying to get attention".  My heart breaks for both of them, and for her parents. 

This year promises rewards, as do all years.  The heartache comes with it.  I have never had to watch a child suffer and fade this way. 

I ask for the prayers, positive energy thoughts, anything and everything.  Miracles happen, right?