Renovations.
December is a difficult month. Not just as a bereaved mother preparing for Christmas with an aching heart, but as a teacher. All of my sophomore students take their English II End-of-Course assessment, a state mandated exam, before Winter Break. This exam, though an arbitrary measure of "proficiency," is worth 20% of their overall grade, per the state's directive. Because of this, we spend a ton of time reviewing in the weeks leading up to the exam.
One of the many skills we further develop and (attempt to) master in my course is the art of defining unknown words based off of what is happening around them (i.e. using context clues to determine the meaning of a term or phrase). One of the ways I teach my students to tackle an unfamiliar word is to use morphemes to "break the word down." As a class, we learn over 100 prefixes, suffixes, and roots, and we practice stringing together the word parts we know to determine the meaning of longer, more complex terms.
The night before my students were to take their EOC, as with any other semester, I struggled to find sleep. I kept wondering if I had taught them all I could, if I prepared them enough, if I had taught to the best of my abilities. I mentally reviewed the skills they would need to ace this exam. Out of all of the things swimming through my head that night, one stuck out to me: using those morphemes we had spent every week learning to figure out any unknown words they may come across (there are more questions on the exam about word meaning and context than almost any other skill we cover). I mentally waded through the word parts we learned and reviewed, and I practiced piecing them together to make longer words (because my students would be doing the opposite on the exam). I settled on one word and meditated on that term until I fell asleep. This word struck me not just a term my students should be able to define if they came across it on the exam, but as a philosophy for my life at present, and as it has been over the last three years since Camden passed away. I repeated this word over innumerable times until I was able to drift off into sleep, and the word has been on my heart and mind ever since.
The word was renovate. Using their knowledge of morphemes, my students would be able to tell you Re = back or again, nov = new, ate = cause/make, so the term renovate means to make something new again. This word has stuck with me since that night because it is the perfect descriptor of my life in the wake of losing my son.
After Cam passed away, I thought that was the end of my existence. Everything I had ever known or loved did not seem to matter anymore. My entire two plus decades of living and all that I had fought so hard to overcome seemed obsolete. The life I had worked so hard to build for myself, which as of the moment I became aware of the perfect little being being formed inside of me, rested solely on the purpose that came from loving, protecting, and providing for my son had been destroyed. My world truly felt as if it had come crumbling down. The destruction was too great, it felt like I would never be able to piece together any meaning in a world in which my son was not physically present.
I didn't know who I was anymore, how I would survive, and honestly, I wasn't even entertaining the idea that this was something I wanted to survive. Those around me, though, made it clear that this was not an option I had. I did not have a choice -- I had to make it out of this fight alive. And I did. At first, I was surviving solely for my family and friends. Then I realized that I wanted to make my son proud and that I needed to honor his life by making the most of mine. And somewhere in the midst of all of this, I met my husband who made the idea of living in this world seem a little less painful and a lot more possible.
As someone who loves HGTV, I can tell you that my life over the last three years has been one major renovation. I was not completely destroyed (as I had originally thought). After all, I had a body that was capable and a mind that, though distraught, was still functioning, even if slowly and dangerously at first. As they say on many home reno shows, I had "good bones." I had the foundation upon which to build a new life. I just could not do it alone. That's where the experts came in. On any HGTV show, they have contractors, laborers, designers, etc. I had family, friends, a church, students, colleagues. I had doctors and psychiatrists and therapists. I had a son, even if he wasn't in my arms. I met a man that proved instrumental in taking the rubble and turning it into something beautiful.
With most home renovation shows, the owner picks a home for what it has to offer, not because of how it looks. Because of this, any renovations that occur on the outside are generally cosmetic. Three years ago, I still looked the same, for the most part (granted, I did lose about twenty pounds in the first two months after losing Cam). Since then, I've lost some weight and gained even more (that's what good love does to you). My hair has grown and been cut and grown back again. I've dyed it a handful of colors -- with another hair appointment scheduled for tomorrow! I've gotten a new tattoo for my son. I've enhanced my makeup skills and my style has evolved. My life, on the outside, has been given a fresh coat of paint.
On the inside, though, is where I struggled to find something I recognized, something I could make good use out of. With any renovation, this is where the real work needs to be done. Anyone who knew me before can see all of the changes I've undergone. Like any good renovation, I've had a few walls knocked down and had new windows installed. I no longer put up a guard against every person I meet or a wall around my heart to keep it from being hurt. Because I have lost the person that means the most to me, I no longer fear anyone seeing who I truly am, for worry of being hurt or not being "good enough." There's nothing holding me back. I met the most remarkable man, who proposed to me two years ago today! We've now been married for the better part of a year, and it seems impossible that it has flown by so quickly. I love him wholly and without fear -- something my former heart would never have been able to do for all the blows it had suffered. We both genuinely believe that it was Camden that led us to one another -- there's no other explanation for how I literally fell in love with him over the course of a few hours on our first date. These new windows let in a remarkable amount of light. Because I've seen the worst this life has to offer, I can now appreciate the best it provides. I see the love, joy, peace that is possible. I myself, have attempted to become a light. I have tried to help others understand that, no matter what you are forced to endure, you can come out the other side and you can illuminate a path for others on their own journeys. You can be made new again. I like to think that, because of my son, and because of the love I had for him, my heart is now a little more spacious. When it broke into a million little pieces, the effort involved in rebuilding it required many helpful hands. When we all worked together to piece it back together, it was not perfect. Some pieces were jagged and some had chipped away, but I'd rather have all of the cracks for the light to shine through than to never have known my sweet boy at all. Even my brain has evolved into something new. I am not afraid to try new things or to embrace adventure. After all, I've already survived what I thought was impossible so what's the worst that could happen now? More than anything though, this renovation has brought me hope.
I hope that I will only continue to be made new, to feel refreshed, to express gratitude at how far I have come. I hope that I will never stop growing. I hope that Cam's life continues to be reflected in my love and patience and kindness and joy and all of the wonderful things he brought me and taught me. I hope that one day, he will be a big brother and that I have the strength it takes to mother children here on earth and my first-born in heaven. I hope that other bereaved parents understand that this is not where their story ends. I hope these parents realize that, because of who their angel children were, they have the power to renovate who they are.
I also hope that my students did really well on their EOC!
And I hope that everyone enjoys this holiday season with their loved ones, even if someone you love is not here to open presents on Christmas morning or to join in on the celebration of the start of another year. Strive hard to smile a little more or to be a little kinder, to open yourself up to the magic of this time of year -- chances are, that's what your loved one would want you to do.
One of the many skills we further develop and (attempt to) master in my course is the art of defining unknown words based off of what is happening around them (i.e. using context clues to determine the meaning of a term or phrase). One of the ways I teach my students to tackle an unfamiliar word is to use morphemes to "break the word down." As a class, we learn over 100 prefixes, suffixes, and roots, and we practice stringing together the word parts we know to determine the meaning of longer, more complex terms.
The night before my students were to take their EOC, as with any other semester, I struggled to find sleep. I kept wondering if I had taught them all I could, if I prepared them enough, if I had taught to the best of my abilities. I mentally reviewed the skills they would need to ace this exam. Out of all of the things swimming through my head that night, one stuck out to me: using those morphemes we had spent every week learning to figure out any unknown words they may come across (there are more questions on the exam about word meaning and context than almost any other skill we cover). I mentally waded through the word parts we learned and reviewed, and I practiced piecing them together to make longer words (because my students would be doing the opposite on the exam). I settled on one word and meditated on that term until I fell asleep. This word struck me not just a term my students should be able to define if they came across it on the exam, but as a philosophy for my life at present, and as it has been over the last three years since Camden passed away. I repeated this word over innumerable times until I was able to drift off into sleep, and the word has been on my heart and mind ever since.
The word was renovate. Using their knowledge of morphemes, my students would be able to tell you Re = back or again, nov = new, ate = cause/make, so the term renovate means to make something new again. This word has stuck with me since that night because it is the perfect descriptor of my life in the wake of losing my son.
After Cam passed away, I thought that was the end of my existence. Everything I had ever known or loved did not seem to matter anymore. My entire two plus decades of living and all that I had fought so hard to overcome seemed obsolete. The life I had worked so hard to build for myself, which as of the moment I became aware of the perfect little being being formed inside of me, rested solely on the purpose that came from loving, protecting, and providing for my son had been destroyed. My world truly felt as if it had come crumbling down. The destruction was too great, it felt like I would never be able to piece together any meaning in a world in which my son was not physically present.
I didn't know who I was anymore, how I would survive, and honestly, I wasn't even entertaining the idea that this was something I wanted to survive. Those around me, though, made it clear that this was not an option I had. I did not have a choice -- I had to make it out of this fight alive. And I did. At first, I was surviving solely for my family and friends. Then I realized that I wanted to make my son proud and that I needed to honor his life by making the most of mine. And somewhere in the midst of all of this, I met my husband who made the idea of living in this world seem a little less painful and a lot more possible.
As someone who loves HGTV, I can tell you that my life over the last three years has been one major renovation. I was not completely destroyed (as I had originally thought). After all, I had a body that was capable and a mind that, though distraught, was still functioning, even if slowly and dangerously at first. As they say on many home reno shows, I had "good bones." I had the foundation upon which to build a new life. I just could not do it alone. That's where the experts came in. On any HGTV show, they have contractors, laborers, designers, etc. I had family, friends, a church, students, colleagues. I had doctors and psychiatrists and therapists. I had a son, even if he wasn't in my arms. I met a man that proved instrumental in taking the rubble and turning it into something beautiful.
With most home renovation shows, the owner picks a home for what it has to offer, not because of how it looks. Because of this, any renovations that occur on the outside are generally cosmetic. Three years ago, I still looked the same, for the most part (granted, I did lose about twenty pounds in the first two months after losing Cam). Since then, I've lost some weight and gained even more (that's what good love does to you). My hair has grown and been cut and grown back again. I've dyed it a handful of colors -- with another hair appointment scheduled for tomorrow! I've gotten a new tattoo for my son. I've enhanced my makeup skills and my style has evolved. My life, on the outside, has been given a fresh coat of paint.
On the inside, though, is where I struggled to find something I recognized, something I could make good use out of. With any renovation, this is where the real work needs to be done. Anyone who knew me before can see all of the changes I've undergone. Like any good renovation, I've had a few walls knocked down and had new windows installed. I no longer put up a guard against every person I meet or a wall around my heart to keep it from being hurt. Because I have lost the person that means the most to me, I no longer fear anyone seeing who I truly am, for worry of being hurt or not being "good enough." There's nothing holding me back. I met the most remarkable man, who proposed to me two years ago today! We've now been married for the better part of a year, and it seems impossible that it has flown by so quickly. I love him wholly and without fear -- something my former heart would never have been able to do for all the blows it had suffered. We both genuinely believe that it was Camden that led us to one another -- there's no other explanation for how I literally fell in love with him over the course of a few hours on our first date. These new windows let in a remarkable amount of light. Because I've seen the worst this life has to offer, I can now appreciate the best it provides. I see the love, joy, peace that is possible. I myself, have attempted to become a light. I have tried to help others understand that, no matter what you are forced to endure, you can come out the other side and you can illuminate a path for others on their own journeys. You can be made new again. I like to think that, because of my son, and because of the love I had for him, my heart is now a little more spacious. When it broke into a million little pieces, the effort involved in rebuilding it required many helpful hands. When we all worked together to piece it back together, it was not perfect. Some pieces were jagged and some had chipped away, but I'd rather have all of the cracks for the light to shine through than to never have known my sweet boy at all. Even my brain has evolved into something new. I am not afraid to try new things or to embrace adventure. After all, I've already survived what I thought was impossible so what's the worst that could happen now? More than anything though, this renovation has brought me hope.
I hope that I will only continue to be made new, to feel refreshed, to express gratitude at how far I have come. I hope that I will never stop growing. I hope that Cam's life continues to be reflected in my love and patience and kindness and joy and all of the wonderful things he brought me and taught me. I hope that one day, he will be a big brother and that I have the strength it takes to mother children here on earth and my first-born in heaven. I hope that other bereaved parents understand that this is not where their story ends. I hope these parents realize that, because of who their angel children were, they have the power to renovate who they are.
I also hope that my students did really well on their EOC!
And I hope that everyone enjoys this holiday season with their loved ones, even if someone you love is not here to open presents on Christmas morning or to join in on the celebration of the start of another year. Strive hard to smile a little more or to be a little kinder, to open yourself up to the magic of this time of year -- chances are, that's what your loved one would want you to do.
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