I’ve always had a love of words, a love of phrases. Half of my torso is dedicated to the concepts by which I live my life. I love to read. I love to learn. I live to influence the minds of my baby teen students.

Today, I had the gift of watching as my 7th graders, most of whom had very little English a mere 7 months ago, analyzed literary elements from Vonnegut’s “Harrison Bergeron,” one of my all-time favorite shorts. What a story. What a tragedy.

In those rare moments for a teacher, I stood back and soaked it all in, humbled and in awe at what I/we had accomplished. Today, something amazing happened in my little classroom in my little part of the world.

And for the first time since my mother passed unexpectedly last August, I let myself feel the sorrow that comes with acknowledging I can’t tell her how proud I am of myself. I can’t share my triumph. I can’t hear her tell me she is equally proud of me. I woke up once a few weeks ago and could hear her laugh. It felt SO good to just…feel. And then it was too much, I shut down the memories, and a few weeks later, here I am. Teary-eyed in my classroom, wishing for things I’ll never have again.

But I digress. Today, something amazing happened. I am happy and sad, and this is just how life goes. Thank you for being here.