"Another fresh new year is here . . .
Another year to live! To banish worry, doubt, and fear,
To love and laugh and give!
This bright new year is given me
To live each day with zest . . .
To daily grow and try to be
My highest and my best!
I have the opportunity.....
by William Arthur Ward
Last year at this time, I wrote:
My first chapter is New Years
and the pages are not blank.
My book is Opportunity.
The opportunity to say goodbye.
The opportunity to remember
My book is Opportunity.
The opportunity to say goodbye.
The opportunity to remember
An incredible woman that I call
My mother.
Every day I miss her. Every day I think of her. So why should today be any harder? I thought I would be ok. I thought I could manage as well as any other day. But somehow, emotions that I didn’t even realize, were sitting only skin deep and burst forth when I least expected.
Thinking back to one year ago, I searched for what opportunity that New Year brought. It was an opportunity that I struggled to find the good in. It was the opportunity to say goodbye to my mother. One of her favorite WWII songs rings true with these words, “Beneath each dark cloud shining, there’s a silver lining,” and I guess that is one opportunity we can choose to find in every piece of our lives. The words continue on with “Turn the dark clouds, inside out,” and that is sometimes a difficult task when we are faced with personal loss.
I would have liked to have stayed home on January 15th. I would have liked to have reflected quietly, alone, on my mother’s life and all that I miss. My mother taught me to solve problems, to face fears, to try new things, but most importantly, to do what is right. It would have been so easy to stay home that day. But in my heart I knew that, although it was difficult, I did what was right and supported my students and my colleagues to help make a two week long endeavor a success. The students were to read their poems, with artwork and music at a coffeehouse presentation after school in 4 seatings.
Writing is very important to me and I model everything I ask the children to do. I was to read my poem as part of the presentations too. My poem was not about my mother, although it was about memories and stories that go untold over years. Throughout the day there were many unexpected emotional bumps that made me realize that this might be harder than I had anticipated. I kept searching for the opportunity. That one moment that would tell me, “yes, this was the right thing to do”.
Each child, one by one read their poem. It was a beautiful serene setting. The tables decorated with silver and white and all that is winter. The cafeteria walls were hung with strings of twinkling white lights and giant white paper snowflakes that the children had made in art, creating the illusion that we were someplace else rather than a school lunchroom. The curtains framed the screen on the stage like a giant picture waiting for each child’s artwork to fill it. The white painted trees to either side sparkled with more lights, and glittered with silver, inviting guests to be lulled into believing they were far away from that moment in time. Throughout the first, then the second, third and finally to the 4th seating at almost 7pm, the poems were read. A long, long day of teaching, coordinating, and celebrating, all the while my heart aching, remembering, and wondering where the opportunity lay.
Every time a student introduced themselves they would also give the name of their teacher. Over and over again, I heard my colleagues’ names and my own stated.
“Name, …….teacher, Mrs. Mousseau”. Each time I knew that I had done the right thing by being there to support them. Maybe this was the opportunity I thought. The last seating was nearly over. It was almost my turn to read. One of my own students sat next to me, ready to read last. It made me proud to think that they were getting a chance to celebrate their writing in such a special way. The poet we had worked with all week turned to me and said, “The children say who their teacher is, what will you say when you read yours? You ARE the teacher.” Tears welled up in my eyes. Another unexpected fragile moment. But finally, I realized what my opportunity was.
Behind the screen projecting my artwork, I stood with the microphone speaking confidently. “Cheryl Mousseau...... My best teachers, my parents.”
That one statement, made it difficult to continue on, but I did, because I knew it was the right thing to do. More importantly, I knew that I had found the opportunity I had been looking for all day. My best teachers, were my parents. And that is what mattered. That is what has made the difference, in how I have led my life as a wife, as a mother, as a sister and yes, as a teacher.
Thinking back to one year ago, I searched for what opportunity that New Year brought. It was an opportunity that I struggled to find the good in. It was the opportunity to say goodbye to my mother. One of her favorite WWII songs rings true with these words, “Beneath each dark cloud shining, there’s a silver lining,” and I guess that is one opportunity we can choose to find in every piece of our lives. The words continue on with “Turn the dark clouds, inside out,” and that is sometimes a difficult task when we are faced with personal loss.
I would have liked to have stayed home on January 15th. I would have liked to have reflected quietly, alone, on my mother’s life and all that I miss. My mother taught me to solve problems, to face fears, to try new things, but most importantly, to do what is right. It would have been so easy to stay home that day. But in my heart I knew that, although it was difficult, I did what was right and supported my students and my colleagues to help make a two week long endeavor a success. The students were to read their poems, with artwork and music at a coffeehouse presentation after school in 4 seatings.
Writing is very important to me and I model everything I ask the children to do. I was to read my poem as part of the presentations too. My poem was not about my mother, although it was about memories and stories that go untold over years. Throughout the day there were many unexpected emotional bumps that made me realize that this might be harder than I had anticipated. I kept searching for the opportunity. That one moment that would tell me, “yes, this was the right thing to do”.
Each child, one by one read their poem. It was a beautiful serene setting. The tables decorated with silver and white and all that is winter. The cafeteria walls were hung with strings of twinkling white lights and giant white paper snowflakes that the children had made in art, creating the illusion that we were someplace else rather than a school lunchroom. The curtains framed the screen on the stage like a giant picture waiting for each child’s artwork to fill it. The white painted trees to either side sparkled with more lights, and glittered with silver, inviting guests to be lulled into believing they were far away from that moment in time. Throughout the first, then the second, third and finally to the 4th seating at almost 7pm, the poems were read. A long, long day of teaching, coordinating, and celebrating, all the while my heart aching, remembering, and wondering where the opportunity lay.
Every time a student introduced themselves they would also give the name of their teacher. Over and over again, I heard my colleagues’ names and my own stated.
“Name, …….teacher, Mrs. Mousseau”. Each time I knew that I had done the right thing by being there to support them. Maybe this was the opportunity I thought. The last seating was nearly over. It was almost my turn to read. One of my own students sat next to me, ready to read last. It made me proud to think that they were getting a chance to celebrate their writing in such a special way. The poet we had worked with all week turned to me and said, “The children say who their teacher is, what will you say when you read yours? You ARE the teacher.” Tears welled up in my eyes. Another unexpected fragile moment. But finally, I realized what my opportunity was.
Behind the screen projecting my artwork, I stood with the microphone speaking confidently. “Cheryl Mousseau...... My best teachers, my parents.”
That one statement, made it difficult to continue on, but I did, because I knew it was the right thing to do. More importantly, I knew that I had found the opportunity I had been looking for all day. My best teachers, were my parents. And that is what mattered. That is what has made the difference, in how I have led my life as a wife, as a mother, as a sister and yes, as a teacher.
1 comment:
once again a beautiful writing. did you stay behind the screen while you read? our parents were the best teachers, not only to us, but to so many others.
love ya
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