aftershock

Last Sunday night a huge wave of grief knocked me down and carried me out to sea. Grief with out words that pulled me deep under, churning and visionless. I finally fell asleep, but woke up Monday morning sobbing, took a shower and got ready for work, still crying. I made it through the week, and was very present for my students. And then yesterday I hibernated and couldn't even concentrate enough to read. Something was working its way to the surface, and today I finally named it.

Five years ago, so long ago, so recent, Katie went to work with me during the month of January. Her college was on the semester system, so she was home most of that month, and she chose to commute with me 45 minutes each way to Willows. A really long day. She did all of my results testing and helped another teacher with hers. She made copies of the little phonics readers that went with our reading program and folded and stapled them and wrote each child's name on them, one for every week through the rest of the school year. She read to kids and she listened to kids read. She played her clarinet for them and watched them paint and ate lunch with me.

She spent all morning with my kindergarten class and the afternoon with my reading intervention groups, first and second and third graders. What a gift she was to me. She should have been sleeping in and hanging out with friends and watching movies, but she wanted to spend time with me. One morning she didn't wake up, and I thought it would be good to let her sleep in. She called me while I was driving to school and was so annoyed with me that I hadn't woken her up.

What a gift she gave me, those memories. It was only my second year of teaching, and I think she wanted to see me be successful, to help me be successful. And I miss my beautiful girl so much. She was amazing.

Frangrant Mountain

weaving memories

You and Kelly were the first to the top of Mt. Lassen,
running on ahead to beat everyone there
exuberantly calling me, sharing where you were
laughing about it all

Then you were the first to die, far from fragrant mountain
alone, without me holding you
didn't give me a chance to help you
just silently passed your pain onto me

Kathy and I hiked to Bumpass Hell in August
fields of lupines scenting the air
hikers with big smiles and muddy cheeks passing us on the trail
gorgeous views and bluest sky…

We smelled sulphur, then saw an aqua pool
mudpots and boiling springs and fumeroles
then painted our faces with volcanic mud and grinned
laughing at the silliness of it all as we walked

So Katie, how's the view?
Are you on the fragrant mountain?
I went there yesterday and thought of you
running on ahead...

Lisa Palmer
2007