I was in a mood on Friday.
It wasn’t because a trigger reminded me of Corrie, and I wasn’t sad about my husband’s current cancer treatment. He is doing very well with Chemo, which will continue through the last week in April.
The feeling that, from my perspective, I was not a good enough teacher got to me. My students showed incredible growth as group yesterday. I wanted to celebrate with the number of them coming to my door to share their news.
“Mrs. B., I showed growth,” one said holding out the iPad forgetting I could see on my computer.
They are reminiscent of 4K students writing their first letters and words, and then the pride they show.
“Mrs. B., did you see my score?” another student asked. “Are you proud of me?”
Let me tell you. With everything middle school students face today, to make a kid this age smile and feel proud means the so much. I have a grim look on my face more often now. It’s not because I’m always sad or angry. I carry a heavy weight in my heart. But my students deliver joy. I smile and laugh most often with them and my son.
But, in the rush for teachers to (a) be a certain way and (b) get this task done immediately; I was not in the mood to celebrate. In fact, I wanted nothing more than to go home away from all the voices around me. For different reasons, I dissected everything I perceived I was doing wrong, or if something was brought up, I retreated into my daydream of building a cabin in the mountains and live out my days as a hermit.
Exhausted and not the best version of myself, it was not a good time to ask me questions.
Sometimes, certain topics are brought up at the wrong time, and it can cause one’s temper to surge. While I work hard at treating my depression, anxiety, and PTSD; I also possess a fraction of my paternal great grandfather’s legendary temper, like my father.
Sometimes, the tentacles of temper slowly appear like a movie moment in a cave. An actor accidentally drops their flashlight into a bottomless pit within the darkness. The actor and others slowly back away as they hear the distant sounds of the lost flashlight bouncing off the walls of the pit. Then the first tentacles of a forgotten creature hammer the top of the pit.
Of course, I am not proud of my temper, and for the most part, I control it with deep breathing when something ensnares my reaction.
To have a temper is human. We are far from perfect. What people forget is that a temper also exposes vulnerability. There is something about which a person is sensitive not obvious to others. But, it does not give us mere humans the right to devolve and explode on one another.
My heart rate increased, and I lost all the focus needed for numbers. By the time I arrived home on Friday, no amount of joy nor celebration leapt in my heart.
IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL
Although I’m struggling deeply with the faith in which I was raised right now, there is a hymn, It Is Well With My Soul. On Friday evening, I’d determined that I would take Monday off as a mental health day, but for the first time in a long time, my daughter, Corrie, visited me in a dream. Corrie’s visit settled my soul. I saw my daughter clearly as she sat in the bed above me. A strand or two of hair fell on her face, and her voice deepened with laughter came from her gut in a mix of a cackle and giggle as she rocked back and forth as she took my hand. She had a distinct laugh injected with mischief.
Often grief will make you feel alone. You become cautious about what you say and to whom after the first year of enduring loss. You become aware of who might judge, and you may lose friends. There is a part in the season of grief where you rebuild walls, and if you learn someone has misjudged or made a comment in your walk, you shut them out. It’s easy for me to cut ties because I have no issue with being alone. (See hermit living in the mountains reference.)
So to see and hear my daughter in a dream when I have not seen her in a long time helped my heart. It drained my anger. It delivered a joy similar to when you’re a child, and your parent pulls out milk. You dip your Oreo in for the first time.
To see Corrie in a dream is important because after she graduated to heaven on May 27, 2020, I only felt how unfair life was to visit my child when she appeared during the imagination of sleep. As I wrote about last week, I was my child’s protector in life, and in death, I’m my daughter’s memory keeper.
The conversation and what she showed me, I’m keeping to myself as any word from her is more precious than anything this world provides.
Her words, presence, and voice gave me peace. Now it is well with my soul.
Corrie's Season 
Reblogged this on Come to Corrie's Corner and commented:
But, in the rush for teachers to (a) be a certain way and (b) get this task done immediately; I was not in the mood to celebrate. In fact, I wanted nothing more than to go home away from all the voices around me. For different reasons, I dissected everything I perceived I was doing wrong, or if something was brought up, I retreated into my daydream of building a cabin in the mountains and live out my days as a hermit.