On a personal level, the word Learn took on a whole knew meaning.
The year started off with my father entering hospice care. He passed away on a sunny, winter day, February 5. I was teaching my class at the time- well, we were sledding. It would have made him happy to know the kids were happy- and they were. Some of them were sledding for the very first time. This is the year, I learned that grief is nothing like I thought it would be. I thought grief was sobbing uncontrollably. I thought grief was debilitating. And maybe grief is like that for some. For me, it's a quiet reminder that taps on my shoulder at the oddest times. Like walking down a trail and remembering my father taking my kids there. Like driving to work and getting irrationally angry at another driver. Grief is unpredictable. And grief has no time limit.
The pandemic happened in 2020. I didn't get to go home to see my parents in what would be my father's last summer. When he got sick in November, I couldn't go home and help my mother figure things out and support her in her journey. When he went home to receive hospice care, I couldn't be there to help my son navigate this time. I couldn't hold my dad's hand that one last time. People talk about how hard it is to not visit family, but sometimes those same people have no idea how actually hard it is. I did go back home this past summer. I went to say goodbye to dad, goodbye to my childhood home, and to move mom across town. I also went home to watch a beloved niece get married. Highs and lows and everything in between.
I went back home this Christmas, at the height of the Omicron wave. I learned that sometimes you can't care about pandemics. You have to be there because it's your first Christmas without your dad. Your mom's first Christmas without her husband of 61 years. Your sons' first Christmas without their beloved grandfather. And I was reminded that home is where the heart is. That the government doesn't own your life, and sometimes you need to go your own way. I was safer in Illinois than probably 75% of people in Canada. I have no regrets. But I also knew that it wasn't going to be a popular decision by some peoples standards. Sometimes right and popular aren't the same thing. And I can take care of myself just fine, thank you.
Grief still has lessons to teach me. I have learned that grief can make you tender towards others' grief, if you allow it. That grief isn't selfish; it can be giving, if you allow it. Grief gives you a wisdom, a membership into a secret club, that allows you to view others through a softer lens. If you allow it. And you should allow it.
On a professional level, I learned (OK, I've always known this but work with me) you can never stop learning. That sometimes you have to re-evaluate what you do. And sometimes you need to say goodbye to practices that do not serve your students. I am learning to be an anti-racist teacher. It is a hard lesson to learn. It is flipping some long-held beliefs on their head. And I like it like that. I need to be the best teacher I can for all of my students. I need to be the teacher who stands for truth and justice, even if the majority don't understand or see it that way. I continue to learn, continue to grow.
In the book Voyage of the Dawn Treader, by CS Lewis, there is a scene where Eustace, who has been turned into a dragon, meets the Lion, Aslan, for the first time. Aslan tells him he can change back to a human if he scratches his skin. Eustace begins to scratch, and the scales fall away, but he doesn't seem to make much headway. It isn't until Aslan comes along with his lion claws and digs down deep to peel off the layers. Becoming an anti-racist thinker is a lot like being Eustace here. So many layers of built up assumptions and beliefs that are just plan wrong. We need these Aslan's in our lives- the kind who will dig down deep, regardless of how much it may hurt, and peel off those layers. Because, in the end, we will become the humans God intended us to be in the first place.
So, here I am, on the cusp of 2022. I have big goals and dreams for this year, and for my future. I hope you do too. We keep moving on, we keep learning, we keep growing. As is my practice, I have already chosen a word for 2022. It is this: Focus. May 2022 be my year to focus on what is important, to focus on what I need to do, to focus on growth. Happy New Year to all of you, my readers. Happy New Year. Hopefully we'll get to go sledding some more.
