Windows v. Walls

June fifth, twenty-thirteen. I never want to relive that morning--the morning I got out of the shower and was greeted with my mom calling from the other room that Jane had just had a stroke.  I think it's finally time to share my story. Well, it's really Jane's story, but it is MY account of what happened those last few weeks. I was in Tembagapura, Indonesia--a place Jane often referred to as the "buttcrack of the world," but a place where Mom lived. I had arrived on Sunday after a grueling three days of travel, and we got the awful text from Melinda on Thursday. It told us that Jane had been found unconscious at home after not showing up to a doctor's appointment and had been taken in an ambulance to the hospital because she had a second stroke (the first had been in 2010, right before my NAU graduation). 

Mom and I were a wreck, and I was so glad that I was there with her. We stumbled around, unsure of what to do until we had more information. As we got more and more news, we knew we needed to get home. Fast. 

Not surprisingly, we weren't fully thinking. Mom had a school-wide musical performance the next day and the rehearsal was that morning so we packed our backpacks and headed to the performance space to meet the kids for the first dress rehearsal. It kept our minds off of what was going on, but her close friends knew something was wrong. Right before we headed to the rehearsal, we caught word that Jane was not going to make it. Keeping our minds on the students was the only way to hold in the eminent tears that would be flowing as soon as the faucets were opened. 

When the rehearsal finally ended, we went home to try and find tickets for the next day to get back to the States. The whole next few hours were a giant blur, but they involved getting tickets, preparing Mom's room for the summer since she wouldn't be back until the next school year, tracking down Mom's passport which was somewhere in the government offices in the lowlands to renew her visa, packing my stuff that I brought and whatever Mom needed for the summer in the States, and more. 

SUPER early the next morning, we headed to the shopping center to try to get the very first helicopter out of there for the day. If the weather was too cloudy, helicopters would not be able to get out and that was our ONLY chance of catching any planes off the island. We had our flight booked from Jakarta onward, but were waiting to get down to the lowlands before booking our first flight. Luckily, we made M1 (the first chopper) and made it down, booked a ticket, and had time to get breakfast in Timika. 

Every layover we had brought more bad news, but Japan was the worst. We had flown from Timika to Jakarta (where I broke my ribs, but that is a whole different story) and Jakarta to Tokyo where we had an 8-hour layover and went to shower. I got out of the shower later than Mom, but she met me with tears streaming down her face to tell me she had just called home and Jane was being moved to hospice. I wasn't quite sure what that meant at that point, but I knew it was bad as we stood there in the middle of the lounge holding each other and crying. I eventually was able to ask and find out through sobs that it meant she had no chance of making it--something I already knew from what we were being told, but this just confirmed it. 

FINALLY we made it back to the States and were picked up at the airport and rushed to hospice to say what we thought were our final goodbyes. When we walked in the room, Jane gave Mom a look that seemed like she was saying, "What took you so long," in her typical way and when she saw me, she gave a big smile. After that brief visit, I was taken to Urgent Care for the first of what would be three doctor appointments and a rush to the Emergency Room for broken ribs. 

The first few days weren't as bad as we thought they would be. Jane was more alert than we had anticipated and the nurses said she was giving us a true gift in her "communication." I say it in quotes because the stroke killed all her communication abilities, but I  know there was some way that she knew we were there and loving her like crazy.  As the two weeks went on though, she left us before her body did. It was apparent when Mischief (very much HER dog) came in a few times to see her. She knew to pet Mischief, but the dog wanted to follow Melinda around wherever she went. For anyone who had interacted with Mischief before, they knew that she and Jane were completely attached. If anyone made any movements towards Jane, they were warned there would be consequences to pay from her watchful "guard dog." (Mischief is a lap dog size and wouldn't be able to hold off robbers if they ever got into the house!) 

The night of the Supermoon, my roommate from college was flying in from Seattle and heading up to her hometown of Prescott with her sister. I was able to pick her up from the airport (a much needed "pick up" for me too!) We met her sister for dinner and I received a text from my mom at dinner saying that Jane's skin had finally started turning purple and "mottled." I asked if that meant it would be her last night and Mom just thought it would be no more than a day or two but that I might want to stop by hospice on my way home. She didn't need to ask again. 

When I got to the Dobson House, Mom was in the hallway with a friend who had brought her dinner so I went back on my own. I told Jane who I was when I entered as I always did (hearing is the last thing to go and I wanted her to know she was surrounded by people who loved her) and went to check her feet. They were cold and purple and had a strange appearance to them. I moved up to her side and told her I loved her and kissed her forehead and heard IT.

I know someday I will be even more comforted by the honor of being there when she breathed her final breath, and I know we had always had a connection different than my sisters did with her. She was the one I could talk to about anything at all, even before Mom! Mom was always glad that I had someone I could confide in and wouldn't pry as long as I was talking to someone. Those last two minutes together were priceless, but the sound was haunting. 

Many often refer to it as a "death rattle," a psychological phenomenon which occurs in someone who is near death. The rattle often plays roles in fiction, with Victorian authors in particular  being especially fond of describing this phenomenon in lurid retail. Hospice gave us pamphlets that advised us up and down about what to expect of the last breath: quiet shallow breathing that slows to a final stop, audible exhalation as the final breath is released, facial changes, eyes that either open wide or close or remain partially open, lower jaw muscles relaxing as the jaw falls open. None of those truly prepared for what the sound was and I cannot describe it in words, but I still hear it as I fall asleep some nights.

The night of the Supermoon, three of the eleven people in the Dobson House passed onto the Next which was more than they had ever experienced before. Jane knew she was surrounded by people who loved her, and that was true even until she was wheeled out to the waiting van when it finally arrived. 

I've never lost anyone that I was this close to or loved this much and even a few months later it still hurts. I don't think that will really change anytime soon. Many people have been asking about wedding planning, and that is not really on my mind yet. I've been making some plans because I know I need to and I've been trying to stay busy just to think about other things. Many people use Facebook and think that I have had this awesome summer of travel, but don't remember that it is just a tool that is used like a window into someone's life.

To quote my favorite boss of all time, if you were walking past a house and looked in the window to see a man raising his hand towards his wife, with the full intention of a slap and the look of true fear  in her eyes, what would you think? Would your mind be like the majority of the world and think that he was being abusive and she was fearing for her life because he was hitting her again? Chances are by looking through the window, you missed the bee that was covered by the solid walls and that the man was saving his wife's life by trying to kill the bee that she was deathly allergic too before it finally landed on her head. 

In my Facebook window of the summer, I am posting pictures and status updates of the happy times. I am not posting about trips to the car dealer to help fix/update/sell cars that no longer have an owner. I am not posting about bank appointments where accounts are changed/closed/switched that no longer have an accountholder. I am not posting about cleaning out closets of clothes, shoes, and accessories that were sorted/folded/donated because they don't have a wearer. It all hurts and is not getting easier, but I hate having to justify myself to people who supposedly love me. 

I am trying to post the highlights of the summer so I have somewhere happy to turn to. My wall (and this blog)  is exactly that: Mine. The glimpses through the windows here and there might look like I am purely having fun on all of my "vacations" this summer, but they aren't showing the tears that flow every. single. day. from missing and loving Jane. 

Preparing For The Future

Yesterday, one of my principals sent out an email to meet in the gym after school for the full-staff after-school professional development. When we arrived we weren't sure what to expect, especially when the vice principal of another school who was there to help mediate told us to line up elbow-to-elbow across the length of the gym floor. As we stood from one wall to the other, he told us that he was about to read from a list of statements and if they applied to us we had to follow the directions to either move forward or backward a step.

The list included statements such as,

• If you ever completely skipped a meal because there was no food at your home, take one step back.
• If anyone in your life ever told you they believed in you, take one step forward.
• If any member of your family has ever combated an addiction of some sort, take one step back.
• If one of your parents has a university degree, take one step forward.
• If both of your parents have a university degree, take one step forward.

By the end of the entire list of statements, our whole staff was spread the width of the gym. We were given some reflection questions and then instructed to meet back in the library to discuss and continue the activity where we could talk in our grade level/content teams. 

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Every Monday and Wednesday a student from UNC comes in to observe/do some teaching. He started coming into my classes last year and has done a great job in the rough situation that middle schools such as this present. He has been growing more comfortable in front of the classes, and last year even a had some days where he taught for the entire class period or even worked with the classes when I was gone instead of doing the usual movie/sub lesson plans.

The smallest class I teach is my (mostly) seventh grade choir at one school. Since we were on an early release/PD schedule this Monday, our UNC friend wasn't with us. Instead, the class of eighteen decided we should have what I like to call "family discussion" about his role in our class. Last time he had been there, some of the students weren't too crazy about the exercises he was having them do in warm ups and ended up getting in quite a bit of trouble due to their lack of participation, focus, and engagement.

In our family discussion, we talked about his role in our classroom and how he is going to school to try and be a music teacher when he grows up. We talked about how he has to go through training before he can be a real teacher just like other professions do similar things. I then went around the room and started asking the class what they want to individually be when they grew up. Most of them either hesitated or didn't know when I asked them but others responded with jobs like a teacher or performer.

I then asked the roughest girl in the class--the eighth grader who I have had numerous conversations with to try and convince that even though she is "cool" in the rest of the school and the rest of the kids are "geeks" or whatever you want to call them, any relationships that are made in our room can be kept secret if she wants as long as she treats people like humans during class. Her response to future career? A doctor.

I was amazed to hear a response from her and went with that. She wasn't sure what age group she wanted to help, but I asked her what she would think if she had to go get a surgery and her doctor had never had any practice on anyone. I then switched it for everyone and asked what they would think if they went to a dentist who had never practiced and you needed to get a tooth pulled. They laughed when I pretended to act it out, "Oops, wrong tooth! Let me try again!...Drat! I missed it again!"

After class, as they were leaving, a few different students came up to me on their own and told me that no one has never asked them what they want to be when they grow up before.

No one.

I remember growing up and having to write my future plans in every single grade, complete with illustration. There were times I wanted to be an astronaut, the first lady president, or a WNBA player (or a teacher, obviously!) but at least someone wanted to know.

**********

As our faculty meeting continued, we continued to remove the lens and look at the hidden rules in society that seem to govern the interactions among all those involved, especially considering minorities and different ethnicities.While we don't have to feel guilty about our lives or where we ended up on the basketball court, we need to keep in mind the difference between our plans of travel for the furlough days v. our students trying to figure out whether they will get to eat on that day since school will not be providing meals.

One of the biggest quotes that hit me in the discussions as we compared our results to how they relate to our local community and student population was, "It is our job as educators to prepare kids for their future, not for our pasts."

Drive Through Listening

Every relationship, whether romantic or not, is a journey.

We can all attest to that.

Relationships take effort, especially in the field of communication. Often when the relationship is between two people of the opposite sex, those communications do not come naturally. This is most likely because men tend to desire more independense wheras women desire more social interaction.

At one of our BCO trainings last week, we were commenting on how men often have one conversation going on and can't focus on many other things going on in a room while that is happening. Reversely, women are more likely to pick up pieces from each conversation going on (including whatever is happening on the radio or tv) and converse in every area. Barry mentioned that in a relationship however, all that is put aside and the two people have to pass through five different levels of communication before the desired endgoal can be achieved.

CLICHES are the typical, routine, often repeated commentes, questions, and answers given out of habit with no real forethought or genuine intent. "How are you?" "Fine." "Having a good day?" "Yes."

FACTS are information or statistics about the weather, offices, friends, news, personal activities, etc. Facts require no in-depth thinking or feeling.

OPINIONS include concerns, expectations, personal goals, dreams, and desires. Due to differences of opinion that naturally arise between two people, epseically between men and women, this is typically the level at which we run into the "wall of conflict."

Many poeple lacking the skills ot make it through the "wall of conflict" revert back to the first two levels of communcation and never truly get to know each other and satisfy needs. Lack of passion towards that desired end goal is in direct proportion to lack of effective, constructive confrontation. Sharing feelings and needs makes one vulnerable and can/will only be done where there is a feeling of mutual trust.

Conflict is not only the wall, but also the door, for conflict is virtually inevitable and it is only in passing through conflict that we are able to reach the deeper levels of a relationship. If only more people realized this they would not view it as a destructive source, but a creative one when confronte in a positive manner! Conflict is, in reality, a tool to bring two people closer together as long as those two do not allow it to lead to contention. In other words, attitude makes all the difference! The inherent differences between men and women automatically cause conflicts to arise, but with the realization that it is these differences that enable men and women to compliment/complete each other, they are in the right frame of mind to make use of them constructively!

Affter going through the "wall (or door) of conflict" by applying the communication skills above, you both feel safe enough to share your deepest emotions or FEELINGS.

NEEDS are then the deepest level of communication where you feel completely safe to reveal your unique needs with each other. Truly, unless needs are known and met, two people will remain strangers.

As I was thinking about basic skills to make it through the inevitable "wall of conflict" that kept being mentioned, I realized that listening was really important and deemed that key, "drive through listening."

Drive through listening is a way for ensuring both are communicating with real understanding and true respect. The term comes from when you order food at a drive through location (which I REALLY try hard not to do). You give them the order and then they repeat it back. You either say, "That's right," or correct them. If corrected, then they repeat it back again for you to verify. This way, you know they understand exactly what you meant! It works the same when two people converse. Both should take turns--one being the speaker, the other listening. When understood, the speaker changes roles with the listener. This procedure prvents the fault so many of us are guilty of--only half listening and not really understanding. Be sure, when listening, to invite the other to say more in case they do have more to say and be sure not to cut them short. Ask questions in that safe environment to further clarify/understand.

Every major conflict is the result of someone's needs not being met. Only in meeting these needs can you truly understand each other and find the desired end goal from your communication.

Thanks.

It's over.

My first year of teaching is completely finished. My rooms are cleaned up. My things are home where they belong. Instruments have been returned to the schools from which they came. Everything is exactly where it should be, so why does it feel like this isn't really happening?

After the bell rang, all the eighth graders met up outside and were crying as they said goodbye to everyone. A group of girls that were the toughest to break through to at the beginning of the year came up to give me a hug and let me know that they would come back to visit. Their faces and eyes were completely red from all of their teary goodbyes.

The crowd of emotional eighth graders diminished as their rides came and the buses pulled out. As I turned to start heading back inside, two boys who had been in two separate sections of choir came up to me. One of these boys was the student I had who couldn't speak a word of English at the beginning of the year. The other was the student who seemed to be getting into trouble all the time and was hanging out with the tough crowd that was affiliated with gangs. As they walked up to me, they looked around to make sure none of their friends were around and the second held out his hand to me so I shook it. He just looked up and said, "thanks." One word. The other boy followed suit and did the same thing, and as they walked away, the tears that I had been holding back through all the girls' goodbyes started welling up in my eyes and I had to look up to the cloudy sky to try and keep them from falling.

As they started leaving the parking lot, I called out their names and they turned around. I told them that I was really proud of them for all their work this year. I told them that they could have just given up or made class into a torture chamber for everyone involved, but they chose to participate and actually lead the class quite often which was commendable. I told them that I wanted them to have a fantastic summer but to make good decisions throughout it because I didn't want to see their name in the paper for anything other than the great feats they were going to accomplish. They looked at me and gave me a goofy smile with their "ok, Miss" response and turned and walked off.

Moments like those are the things to remember when I have no idea why I wanted to become a teacher in the first place.

What a way to end the year.

Car Wash Sanctuary

Have you ever pinched a hose while it was turned on? No matter how much pressure has been building up, the water just can't get through. You stand there, trying to spray the water to rinse off your car after washing it in the driveway, only to throw the hose down in frustration as you walk along the green, rubber path it has snaked its way through, trying to locate the problem. In your frustrations, you swear up and down that you will pay the $5.50 and take your car to the drive-through car wash the next time it gets dirty to avoid future cloggings and frustrations.


Sometimes I think parts of the body work (or don't, depending on how you look at it in this situation) like the hose. Sometimes the connections between the brain (the main water source) and different parts of the body just have a pinched connection that don't let them work like they are originally intended to.

Take the heart for instance. So often, this organ can run on what seems like a brain of its own, tricking you into believing that the facade is actually your brain running the show. It can try to run the rest of your body in efforts to compensate for the lack, but the pressure is continuously building up behind the scenes.

By the time you figure out what is happening, you frantically search to find where the blockage is in hopes that it is not a lost cause and that the brain will still be able to work harmoniously with the heart.

Earlier this week, I found myself sitting in a drive-through car wash. The door ahead of me was already sealed, and as I pulled Rhonda up to the inner stop sign, the door behind me rolled down, trapping me in what was soon going to be a very precipitous room. As the water started to trickle down at increasing speeds, I opened the cover of my moon roof (I refuse to call it a sun roof since my main pleasure comes from watching the stars at night through it) and watched as my sight was diminished by the water rushing down.

As the machine cycled through the rinse, wash, rinse, and dry settings, I watched for what seemed like the first time and really took in the whole scene. I was amazed at how small my world turned when I could no longer see out my windows. Everything enclosed in the car was crystal clear--it was my personal world of safety, however small it seemed. My mind started to wander as lyrics to Mumford & Sons triggered different thoughts.

For those few moments, nothing outside of that world mattered.

And then, as the rinse and dry cycles concluded the door ahead of me opened, signaling my need to leave so the next person could enter their car wash sanctuary.

Isn't it funny how life works sometimes...you find the most clarity when it's hardest to see with your eyes. As long as there are no pinches in the hose, the pressure doesn't build up and everything makes sense as it was intended to.

Maybe this isn't the time to mention that the lightbulb I was using just flickered out as I wrote my last sentence.

Thinking Outside the Music Box

This JUST in: I've been having troubles getting the students quiet as quickly as I wanted them to be lately. My principal says that compared to some other teachers, it's WAY faster, but I know they can get quieter better. The method that I had been working for most of the year so far was "Eyes on me in 3...2...1" which gave them a few seconds to finish their conversations, but lately I've had to countdown two or three times before getting the quiet.

The new idea? A MUSIC BOX!

Now, I haven't tried this out yet at all and want to test it tomorrow, but here's the plan: I have a music box that my grandparents gave me that I just wound up all the way to find out it plays for just under four minutes. My plan is to wind it up at the beginning of each class so that it has full song capacity. Any time the students are getting too loud or won't settle down, I will simply open the box and let it play until they are quiet. If the box runs out of music, they will have to sit in silence for the rest of the class. If there is still music left at the end, we will get a sticker chart or some way to keep track of how many days each class has made it without running out of time.

I counted up how many school days there are left in the year (50!) and am brainstorming some kind of incentive for the silence. What I'm thinking of now is a pizza party for any classes that can get 30 days without running out of music. This won't break the bank, and I could still have the kids bring a dollar or something to offset the cost as long as they earn it!

I'll be sure to report back with whether or not this works, but I'm excited to see the outcome! If you have any thoughts, comments, or suggestions, please let me know!!

Brahms: The Board Game

At my last school where I teach only choir, each day of the week has a different theme. "Writer Wednesday" is one of the kid's favorite's because they get to learn about a new composer each month and discover neat life facts and listen to music.

For February, we studied a composer of the Romantic era...Brahms! (duh)

The first week, the kids did a scavenger hunt to gather facts from their classmates about his life, compositions, and important world events during that time period. Last week, we studied and listened to some of his first symphony. We talked about the alps and how he discovered the main melody and I even got to play my horn for some of the excerpts which they loved. This week, they are creating "Brahms: The Board Game" in groups of 4-5. They were working so hard with such great ideas, I'm letting them finish up today! I can't wait to see the final products from so many of these games.

The best part about Brahms month though? RAISIN BRAHMS! (<-Click the link if you have never seen it! Travis Whaley, I will forever be thankful for this video!)

So what will March bring us on Writer Wednesday? SOUSA! (duh, again!)