Wednesday, September 22, 2010


When I was in high school and I was asked to pick a major, I had such a hard time.
I liked a lot of things.
I was good at quite a few things.
How could I just pick one thing.

I ended up picking biology.
Not sure why.
Not sure what I thought I would do with it.
But I picked something.
[Interesting enough my major is now Biology education.]

I got accepted as biology major at Virginia Tech.
But then my guidance counselor told me about a particular scholarship.
A national math scholarship.
My major would have to be changed to math though and I would have to take a test.
So I did.
And a little known fact, I was in the top ten in the U.S. that year but only the #1 person won the scholarship so I got a certificate and went to Virginia Tech as a math major.

And then life progressed.
In 2003, I applied to Pace University in NYC.
As an education major.
I was accepted.
Went to orientation but figured out that I could not afford to pay for school on my own, even with loans.
So I withdrew.

Life progressed some more.
My good manager at my last job (imagine Glenda the good witch) convinced me to go back to school.
I chose Healthcare Administration.
I could do almost the entire program online part time.
But I was not happy with my job.
Then I was transferred to the wicked witch of the west manager.
I cried at work a lot.
I had insomnia on Sunday nights dreading the week ahead.
Completely unhappy. This is not what I wanted to be when I grew up.
This is not what the girl way back in high school wanted to be when she grew up.

I cried to Roger.
"Why did I make us move into a bigger more expensive house?"
Roger was not sure how to make things better.
I could not find a job I thought would make things better.
So I cried even more.

Roger died.

In November 2008, I finally decided I did not want to be unhappy anymore.
And I certainly did not want to work for the wicked witch.
When I thought back to all the things I liked about my job, it was the teaching parts.
The times I was mentoring or getting the physicians to finally understand.
That's when I smiled.

The first time I helped out in a classroom in January 2009, I felt that feeling again.
I think helped me start to heal a bit.

Each time I enter a classroom, the passion burns warmer and warmer.
Yesterday, a teacher told me she saw me as a good teacher.
I could do this job well.
I wanted to hug her.
I am nervous about teaching but I cannot describe the feeling I get when I am helping students.
Passionate is the only word that comes to mind.

On my way to my reflection class last night, I started to cry.
Roger wanted so badly to take away my pain.
To make me happy.
To help me find my passion.
And he did it.
I am finally there.
It feels so good to know what I want to be and to be on the track to achieve it.
But he had to die to make it so.
So I cry.


Funny Girl said...

I used to be an elementary school teacher and knew it was not for me. I saw those around me (my coworkers) and their drive to help others and passion for wanting to share their knowledge. It truly takes a special person to be a teacher and seeing how we met, you truly posess that "specialness".

Still here rooting for you little one :o)

Hira Animfefte (Xera Anymphefte) said...

I went to Virginia Tech too. I started out as a bio major but switched to English after the first semester. Freshman chemistry did me in.

I'm rooting for you too!

Jamie said...

I was an elementary school teacher for eight years before getting laid off (yes, California). I was desperately searching, interviewing... but, nothing. Then when Tom was killed three months ago, I decided to stay at home with my almost 3 year old & almost 1 year old. Now, not only am I a stay at home Mommy, but I am also a full time teacher to the most important kiddos in my whole world! When they start elementary, I will get to be a part of their classrooms and help out other kiddos again, too.

Crash Course Widow said...

I hate that whole "he had to die to get this" mentality, because I had it too. I was able to stay home only because he died. I was able to move to Sandy only because he died. I was able to customize and decorate a house, change my mind 2 years later and lose a boatload of money, only because he died. I'm able to contemplate whatever the hell I want to do now...only because he died.

I hated those facts for a really, really, REALLY long time. I don't know that I hate it any less, but I don't rail against it or fight it anymore; it's simply how it is. (Boo.)

I'm not as happy now as I was before Charley died, but I suppose I'm more stable and realistically grounded now. The honeymoon period of both marriage and new parenthood aren't skewing my world view now, nor is the grief too much.

And I know you know this, but it's not that Roger had to die for these things to happen. His death changed all the old rules, and now you're able to more easily make decisions based on the here and now, and not the supposed "rules" of society or other people. I've found that the annihilation of the old rules freed me up to more easily follow what *I* want to do. It was a bitter pill to have to swallow and get used to, but at the same time, it is freeing, in a really annoying shit way. Wouldn't it be lovely if we could have attained this new "freedom" without our husbands 'having' to die??

Many hugs, my friend. And I'm so glad you're finding a new passion, and one that can carry forward!!

Mrs. Flinstone's World.. said...

someone once told me.. The least trustable is our lifespan and biggest Tyrant is fate.