These Bodies of Ours

Two weeks ago was one of those magnificent weeks that we teachers survive our first quarter awaiting: only three days of instruction! November is pretty great like that. I mean, September only gives you Labor Day (which used to come before instruction even started) and then October gives you that awkward-to-celebrate Columbus Day nonsense where we have teacher conferences but November... I love November.

This year the end of the marking period lined up with election day, so we got ourselves two work days in a row. Not as crazy awesome as the kiddos, who got a four day weekend straight up, but still pretty sweet. On Wednesday when we finally started teaching, it felt like we hadn't seen these kids in ages. I'd almost forgotten what I was doing. I was rolling my cart back to the planning room for the last period of the day when I found out my work BFF Sra BK had passed out while teaching.

What?!?!

My Asst Principal joked that maybe Sra BK was preggo (which I'm sure Sra BK had NOT found funny when being wheeled out of the school en route to the hospital) and immediately the speculation began. Dehydration? Blood sugar? Overexertion? Something scarier???

I don't do all that well with mortality. J-Man finds that ironic since the LDS church is all about eternal life and heaven for everybody and a billion second chances to do things 'right.' Still, when people around me get sick, I freak out. My neurons start firing in crazy directions and I can't concentrate and temporary madness sets in. (If you're thinking I should tell a shrink instead of you about this, don't worry, I'm steps ahead of you).

So I called J-Man to tell him about my weird day and how I was worried about Sra BK and might be emotionally a little off for the evening until I worked through my feelings in the ways I've learned to calm myself down, when he told me he had a terrible day too. Turns out one of his coworkers, our same age, way more physically fit than either of us have ever been, black, Georgetown Law grad, nice guy, etc, just dropped dead on the basketball court the night before.

I couldn't believe it. J-Man couldn't believe it. We were both being in-your-face reminded that our bodies are unpredictable and unreliable at the same time, and neither of us liked it.

I know everyone grieves differently, and luckily on my end Sra BK ended up being totally ok, but it just started feeling a little overwhelming. I thought about the four high school suicides that happened a couple weekends prior in our county. I thought about the Statistics teacher whose 34-year-old daughter (1999 valedictorian from the school where I teach) just died while biking to work. I thought about the eleven year old grandchild of two retirees from my school who just died on a dirtbike. Suddenly it felt like no one was surviving and everyone's life was fleeting and I needed to hold on to my J-Man a little tighter and kiss my boys eighty more times at bedtime. 

When I saw the Stats teacher a few days later, I felt guilty standing next to my boys in their matching shirts and boots and ear to ear smiles. My heart is so full of laughter and hers was still so visibly breaking and I was helplessly out of words. Not that my words mattered, the moment wasn't even about me. Which only made me feel this selfishly uncomfortable form of worse. I wished I knew her well enough I could have just hugged her and let that speak for itself, sparing us both the strange moment on the sidewalk.

I walked away from that enounter and took time to look at my family, I know I'm lucky. I know I have so much to be thankful for. I know we can't live forever, at least not here on this planet. I'm glad for every moment I spend with them. And I try to snap out of too many sad thoughts, because I want to make the most of the time I do get here. It's the best thing I know how to do. Also, on a practical note, I should probably listen to J-Man and go up my life insurance soon. These boys are fun and cute and all, but they're not cheap.