Thursday, January 12, 2012

A Light In the Darkness

I am no fan of bright lights. Whether it be in the big city or simply in my office or slumbering in my bedroom, the harsh glare of overhead lights shocks my brain and leaves me without rest. I used to blame it on an astigmatism that flares with weariness. As days marched on this semester, I slowly had the epiphany that I was experiencing doldrums of a new dimension.
We have in our offices quite often something we call "Lamp Fridays", which is, of course, a day of only lamps without the fluorescence burning into me, I first began to breath easier, but then I realized that I was slowing to a crawl as the weeks passed. There is a subdued, quieter feeling to our offices that I believe the kids sense. This started to become something more than subdued for me. Just before Christmas break, I began to have a strong desire to sit all alone in the dark, dimming even the mildest of lamps. 
This may have been to do with the fact that I have more than one child struggling with cancer on my caseload. Brave, big eyed young ladies. It may have been that we had more than one student lost to illness or accident. Again, smiling, dimply bundles of energy snuffed out. 
The sheer bulk of 477 students in my alpha, each with their own unique joys and miseries, started to become like running in mud, a steady, unrelenting slog. Finals are a "hurry up and wait" process, with anticipation and dread equally ladled. Counting credits, staring at exam grades, doing math, helping students who had to miss exams, due to commitments and an appendicitis, helped pass the time. Christmas music through Pandora or an early gift CD with some Bing Crosby gave some background rhythm to the day. Great food and company with a Secret Santa party and a fantastic present of a Twins banner lifted my spirits. 
But, again, I wanted to crawl into a dark place, stay quiet and still for a while and ponder things. This I did after wrapping up things with an unplugging of all lamps and the mini-fridge in my office. I had one last conversation with a student in a soundproof room over their rough home life. Then, while it took a long time to get out of the parking lot, it was a short trip home and a snoozling moment. 
Days of shopping, some Christmas family gatherings, then to Christmas Eve. In Grandview there is a traditional service, with songs, with communion, and then there is a lighting of candles. A night a year or so ago saw driving snow. 
I will admit, without rancor, that I was not in the happiest of places that evening, as I helped Amy gather the four together, packed them in the car, scrambled then to find a seat inside the crowded church. 
Music began to play, songs were sung, in a traditional style. I looked over and saw a man I worked with, who lost his wife to leukemia, sitting alone, singing with conviction. Down the way from him was a lady who had been dealing with serious medical issues with her son and his family, with a peaceful look. Behind me, I honed in on the sweet voice of my 7 year old Jamie, who is a GLEE fan and made us play their Christmas CD repeatedly. Robert sat next to her on a row behind us. Her voice was sure and without a hint of hesitation. Next to me was Annie, my 9 year old, who blazes with great intelligence and personality, intent on the words on the screen. Moving through the service, I reflected on my lost loved ones. My dad, my Aunt Linda, my grandmothers and grandfathers, who all had such faith and sheer strength in their daily duties.  I felt a low moment, a pang. 
Then, as I got to watch Annie take her first communion, a veil started to lift. I looked over and saw wild Stephen also take part in this for the first time, and how quiet and still he was. I looked at Amy, my mom, and I took a deeper breath. The lights went out completely. Some words were spoken, as first one candle, then another begin to flame. Soon, it was our turn, and I watched how carefully, reverentially, maturely, my children guarded their candles, holding them higher. 
I felt the light come back within me. I felt a restoration and a resilience start to build. As I blew out the candle in my hand, I felt it start to glimmer within me again. I gathered all, we went out into the night, and I noticed the stars for the first time in a long time. 

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