How to be Happy

At my old job, I worked with this lady that would have me in stitches.
She has a good ol' Southern Tennessee twang.
She would tell it as it is.
And she would be funny about it.

Way before I met her though.
Probably 10-15 years before I met her.
She lost her son.
A small child.
To cancer.

And I remember watching her.
Feeling so sorry for her.
How can she be happy?
How can she crack jokes?
How can she smile at other children?
Just how?

But now I get it.
You never forget.
And I am sure there are days.
And moments.
And maybe even months.
But the loss scars over eventually.

For some reason, September has been harder than I imagined.
But there are days were the loss is just a scar.
And I can smile, crack jokes, and be happy.

Happy

Teaching is hard.
So very hard to deal with so many personalities and needs.
And exhausting.
And killing my feet and hamstrings.
And teaching, as many know, does not pay well.
Yes, we have summers off but we do not get paid for summer.
Nor do we get paid more than 7.5 hours per day.
I do not know any teacher who only works 7.5 hours per day.
I do not understand how you could only work 7.5 hours per day.
I am working ten to twelve hours a day and at least five or six over the weekend.
I spent two weeks before school even started with help cleaning and organizing my room without pay.
Some nights I do not sleep as I find myself trying to run through the day.

But here is the amazing thing.
Truly amazing.
I am enjoying myself.
I am happy.
I love the other teachers I work with.
My principal is so kind as well as the other administration.
The students are mostly good kids.

I feel part of something bigger.
Like I am making a difference.

I look around my classroom and think:
"This is my classroom. These are my students."

And I got a wonderful compliment.
Someone asked/commented "You are a new teacher?"
"You really know what you are doing."
And for the most part, I do feel like I am doing well.

Leaving

Back in 2008, I do not really remember the moment that I decided to become a teacher.
I could probably look back at this blog and find the day.
But I do remember the day I decided to quit my job back in November 2008.
My supervisor had just informed me that they "understood my tragedy" but it would be "unfair to my team" for me to have the same work-from-home day each week in order to attend grief counseling.
I happily quit. I wanted to scream it at them.
I only had one close friend on my team.  [Side note: when I later asked a few others on the team, they said they would have totally understood.]
On November 21, I went into the office for one last day to hand over my computer, my documents, and my emails.
To say goodbye.

But I left with a smile on my face.
I was relieved.
I had made the right decision.
I had a few friends at work but only one good friend.
Only a few keep in touch now.


This week is the end of my first internship.
I had to hold back the tears as I said thanks to my supervising teacher.
The team I worked with is amazing.
They support each other especially in times of sadness.
They work together to help the students.

I feel like I am part of a family there.
Administration is supportive of the teachers.
Most of the students are good kids.
I can relate to the other teachers.
I feel like we could be really good friends.
Leaving is the last thing I want to do.

Yes I am applying for a job there.
But in the mean time, I must say goodbye.
Very very sadly.

Passions

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.

Being Brave

Time and time again I was told, especially in the beginning of this journey, that I am brave.
And as I have said I do not see myself as brave.
I am a widow.  I get up out of bed the same way as everyone else.
I breathe in and out because I have to.
I go on because I have to.
Bravery is more about doing something frightening voluntarily.
I did not chose this life voluntarily by any means.
I just have to live in it.

However, a little while ago, after some encouragement from some fabulous friends, I did something brave.
I decided to start a small photography business.
Location photography for families.

Roger encouraged me a lot while he was alive to pursue my love of photography more.
He tried to get me to sell my calendars I would make each year.
He tried to get me to sell my photos as stock photography.
But I did not have enough faith in myself.
I just had fun when I took photos of my friends and family.

When I got the website to a rough draft level, I cried.
I wanted to show Roger my work.
I felt proud of myself.
I am actually doing it.
Roger would be proud, I think.
Even if it does not work out, he would smile at me.

I feel like this adventure is walking out on a limb for me.
I could easily fail.
And perhaps I am not the greatest yet.
But I am the beginner.  This I accept.
I have a lot of improving to do and knowledge to gain.

This to me is scary.
Investing some time, energy, and money into something that has a 50% failure rate.
Something that a year from now may not exist.
This is being brave.

A Year From Now

Since August of 2008, I have not been back to work.
Besides a one day stint at my last job to wrap up some things.
And my teaching assistant position this past semester.
But not a real career sort of job.

However, in a year, I will be back in the "real" world.

I am slightly nervous about entering the career world again.
By that time, it will be 2.5 years since I was really working.
Two and half years since I dealt with the additional stress of work.

Yes, I have been in school.
And that has been stressful at times.
However, being a student versus being an employee has a different type of stress.
I can be fired from a job.
I cannot be fired from school.

I will have to meet loads of new people.
People who will be my boss.
People who will be my colleagues.
People who will ask questions.
People who I will need to be at least somewhat social with.

As a teacher, I will also be in contact with students' parents.
Parents who may also ask questions.
Parents who may find out my "situation."
The students themselves may find out.
May ask questions.
May use it against me at some point.

In a year... Eeek.

My Troubles

Today I found myself having lunch with some old coworkers.

Afterwards, I wandered the halls and tried to bump into other former cohorts.

I found a few.

It is always nice to see old familiar faces.

Nice to have some old hugs from people who knew me from before.

The one physician, Dr. B, I used to work with is a really nice guy.

I did not appreciate him before.

We are generations apart.

And honestly, he annoyed me.

But, unfortunately/fortunately we have something in common.

Five years ago, his son died in a small plane crash.

He was twenty-nine.

He had only been married ten months.

He was full of life.

At Roger's funeral, I greeted each attendee with a hug.

And my tears just overflowed.

Dr. B quietly handed me his blue handkerchief.

I could tell he was deeply sad for me.

He understood slightly.

I could tell he did not want me to feel this pain.

To share this kind of grief.

A few months later, when I received the autopsy report, it was late in the evening.

I needed someone, specifically a doctor.

Dr. B helped me.

He helped me decode all the medical terminology.

What it really meant.

What it meant in real life.

To me.

Today, as I traversed the halls, I wanted to say hello to him.

It is always nice to talk to someone who gets it.

Even if it is slightly different point of view than mine, we understand each other in some ways.

He said a few things today that resonated with me.

After Roger and I were married, I felt different.

Like I had a completely dedicated team member.

But Dr. B phrased it even better than me.

He simply said, "When you are married, your joy is doubled and your troubles are halved."

That is exactly it.

And boy how my troubles are not halved...

Then he talked about how for a young widow it is hard to start to move forward.

But he mentioned how widows have an opportunity to love again.

A different love. A new love.

But parents do not.

They do not get a second chance to have another son or daughter.

And neither do siblings.

It is different for them.

And he warned me about how it will go when Mr. X meets Roger's family.

How it will be hard for all.

How it may never be comfortable for everyone.

But, he always talked about how he desires such happiness for his daughter-in-law (and he still refers to her as that).

He has met some of her boyfriends and even her (ex) fiance.

He still talks to her and she is still part of his family.

Even five years later.

That gave me joy and hope.

Dr. B was happy for me.

He was truly happy for me.

And interestingly enough, a man I did not like very much when I first met him understands me.

And my troubles.