Endings: Legacy and Humility (Part 2)

I went to Honduras to fill a need; I wanted to serve through teaching.  I didn't go for the adventure or the experience (although those things were inevitable and wonderful), and I didn't go for the recognition.  I did, however, want to make a difference -- not by changing the system, but to hopefully leave something a little better than it was when I got there.

During my first year, it struck me that the preschoolers never really got to play outside.  My project, then, became building a playground.  With the administration's blessing and so many people's generosity, we made it happen.  That helped ease my grief a bit when I left the school at the end of the year.  I comforted myself with the thought that, even though I was gone, the playground was still there.

After I ended up back at the school a year later, I decided it was important to really stock the classroom with good quality materials that would last, rather than just making things out of paper and glue and hoping they'd make it through that day's activity, as I'd done the first year.  And, the next two years, friends and family from back home contributed generously.  As I made my decision not to come back to teach at the school the following year, I knew that I could leave the next teacher and group of students in a much better starting point.  Again, I felt like, even though I was leaving, the classroom was still there.

And as the boards on the playground began to rot and crack and I packed my Nursery materials into boxes for a new Nursery teacher that wasn't coming, my heart broke.

Even though I left, my students and coworkers and the school, culture and community will never leave me.  Not only will they continue to be on my heart and in my thoughts, but they have changed me in ways that are integral to who I am.  I interpret and interact with the world around me in a profoundly different way than I did five years ago.  I had hoped that, while certainly on a smaller scale, some part of me would stay with them, too.

While I didn't go for recognition, I also don't want to be forgotten.

This is where everyone tells you, "Teachers make such a difference in the lives of their students,"  and that is absolutely true.  The thing about two and three year olds, though, is that, they DO forget.  Even if I were able to fly down and visit sometime this upcoming school year, most of my students would probably have no idea who I was by that time.  I've worked with preschoolers for about nine years.  I know how that works.

In addition to that, the school is one that is used to teachers leaving on a regular basis.  While every teacher that has bumped their way up (and skid their way back down) the muddy mountain road has made an impact, the school has continued on just fine without them the next year.  I know.  I've seen it happen for years.

Tomorrow, another new group of teachers will make their way down to Gracias, and I won't be with them.  Even though I know it's selfish, I'm grieved by the idea that I'm just another former teacher now.  I'm no longer an active participant in the community.  The students, school, and returning teachers will continue on with the new faces and personalities, just like they've always done.  The new teachers will check out their new classrooms without any clue about the lessons and laughter and LOVE that filled that room before they got there.  When classes start, they'll walk away from faculty devotions without knowing that they need to slap the door frame as a reminder to teach like a champ that day.

And I'll be here, with my heart full of everything that's there, hoping that I'm still taking up a little space in people's hearts back there.

So for now, while I'm learning to be ok with all that and trying to refocus my attention on those I served rather than myself, I keep reminding myself of a song that one of my old teachers used to play for us:

Make me a servant
Humble and meek
Lord let me lift up
Those who are weak
And may the prayer
Of my heart always be
Make me a servant
Make me a servant
Make me a servant today

And, while I pray those words, I can smile at the thought that something a teacher taught me as a child can still be retrieved from my heart more than 20 years later.

Endings: The Future (Part 1)

It happened.  Over our break for Holy Week, I cried my first real, big, ugly tears over leaving.  There were hints of it before: when I told my principal that I wasn't coming back, when my assistant asked me if I was sad about moving home, when I described my decision to my friends.  But this time was different.  There were sobs and chokes and boogers and convulsive gasps.  And wine.  There was a bit of wine.  Since that moment, I've had a hard time stopping.

Leaving will be hard, and I've realized that from the start, but I hadn't really anticipated the things that would make it difficult.  I knew it would be hard to leave my students and friends, the culture, my work, and the memories, but I had never considered how much more would affect me.  Granted, I originally thought I'd be leaving after 6 months, not 4 1/2 years.

I moved here 2 weeks after graduating college.  I learned how to work full time, buy groceries, pay rent and bills, budget my spending, find the things that I need, and get around here.  I became independent here.  I became an adult here.  I've faced and weathered some of the most challenging moments in my life here, and I learned how to seek help here.  I have a system of support here.  And, while common sense dictates that, if I did it once here while in an unideal setting, I can do it again there where I'm closer to family, long-time friends, and hot running water.  Still, that looming change scares the hell out of me, especially considering how difficult it was the last time I moved home what I had expected would be permanently.

Forgiving myself is an incredibly hard thing for me to do.  I could probably tell you about at least  one thing I still feel guilty about or ashamed of from every year since I was in preschool.  When I moved here, though, my humor carried me through many of my flubs.  They, frequently, were just so absurd that all I could do was laugh.  I don't know how easy laughing away my mistakes will be when I get back, though.  I'm not a new college graduate anymore, nor am I transitioning into a foreign culture; I'm an experienced professional moving home.  The issue is that "home" just doesn't mean the same thing anymore.  It's no longer the lifestyle which I know how to live or where I feel most comfortable.  It means re-learning everything -- probably even a new career.  I'll be stepping into a completely different life, and I am afraid -- not only of how I will handle myself, but also of other people's expectations of me.

Knowing how to end this post is hard.  Previously, I've tried to end my posts with humor or a word of hope.  I don't want to seem hopeless, because that's not how I feel.  But I am scared shitless, and implying anything else is just dishonest.  And maybe getting it out without pretense will finally let me breathe.

Unpleasant Endings

I've joked numerous times about the decreasing duration of my relationships, starting with my first boyfriend in Jr. High and dwindling with each subsequent guy I've been with.  I just broke that trend, my friends, although I'm not particularly happy about it.  With Valentine's Day approaching, I felt it was appropriate to blog about it.

Things just ended today, but this parasitic relationship lasted for upwards of a month.  Since things began, we'd been with each other constantly.  We ate, drank, worked, relaxed, and slept together.  The whole time, he just leached off of me.  I honestly had no idea it was even happening until the very end.  Now I can look back and recognize how much it was affecting me; my weight had even been plummeting.

I'm just so disgusted.  How did I not realize this was happening?  I was so blindsided by it all.  Might it happen again in the future?  How can I prevent it if I'm not even aware of what's been going on until it's too late?

But it's all over now.  It ended suddenly and unpleasantly, but I'm so happy to be rid of him.  I can only pray that I never again have the experience of hosting and then pooping an 8 inch roundworm.

TIH