A Week of Heroes

This is a week of heroes. I kind feel like I'm failing them. This year I have no cute punny cards attached to candy to send to school. No elaborate brunch plans for my mom. I guess despite all the practice at our new lifestyle, it's still a little like feeling around in the dark. 

But I hope they know. All the heroes. That no amount of "I like you a latte" gift cards from Starbucks could never begin to express what they've meant in my life.

To the teachers. They could never pay you enough. Your "job" is unlike any other job. There is no "clocking out" because you're grading papers in your lap at the baseball games, you're rewriting  plans and seating charts in your head as you brush your teeth at night, and you're staying long after "closing time" to change that bulletin board, meet with that parent, or input those grades. And there's an expectation of master's level education without master's level pay. The fact that you're still doing it means something beautiful about who you are.

To my children's teachers, in the past six weeks you've been in my home via zoom. I see you. I see the way you stayed on that Q and A session for an entire hour when only my 7th grader was on the call, treating him with the same care you would a whole class, working problem through problem with him. I've seen how you gently and effortlessly applied classroom management skills to civilize an entire class of third graders over a computer screen. Within days they went from spastic hooligans, talking at once and turning their screen shots upside down, to a forum of distance learning professionals. Well, mostly. You've went the extra mile in every way possible. And I adore you. 

To my teachers. You taught me to vet my resources, cite properly, and ditch excessive "to be verbs" even when I hated it. Because of you I fell in love with Monet, Van Gogh, Mozart, and Charles Dickens. I learned math, and science, and also empathy, ethics, and how to be a small part of something bigger. 

To the nurses. You are some of the most selfless, giving, smart, talented, and hardworking people I know. In recent days I've seen how you've run directly and knowingly into the fire. Often as unprotected as a soldier sent into battle without a gun. But my admiration did not start in March of 2020 when the world broke. No. I'll never forget the hours upon hours, day after day, in which you gently attached iv's, flushed pic lines, and became leading characters in one of the most memorable stories in the life of my son, Moses. I'll never forget the sincere joy with which you celebrated his last day of high dose cancer treatment and even brought in Hawaiian shave ice, since it was the only treat he wasn't allergic to. To the nurses who cared for us when Daniel had encephalomyelitis. The one who I was embarrassed to let see me break down. Who said that I was not overreacting and that I needed to let myself feel what I was experiencing. To the school nurses who saw Moses every single day until he got the hang of applying his own sun screen. Who knew immediately when "something's up" and had the Darth Vader theme song on my phone for about a year. 

To the nurses who might read this. My mother-in-law who does the hardest job I could ever in my life imagine as a hospice nurse. Who understands death and dying, and grief in a way that few people do. To those of you that deliver babies, work the ER or are part of a rapid response team, I adore you too.

And moms. All the moms. To my mom, who taught me to love Jesus and his word. Who, in the early hours of the morning, I could hear praying out loud for me, and my brother and sister, nieces and nephews. Who made special days special, and cried with me through the bad ones. And no one else makes better chilli and cornbread.  I adore you.

To the moms in the trenches, who aren't sure if they can handle one more time through Frozen. And sometimes want to throw a fit themselves when a two year old dictator insists that you cut their cheese sandwiches wrong. To the mamas with aching, empty arms, who are waiting to hold their babies in heaven. The moms of teenagers who aren't sure what's next. I adore you. All of you. 

Thank  you for being you and doing what you do. We all can do what we do because you do what you do with excellence. This is your week.