When I found out in early November that Shea was transferring from my class, it was with mixed emotions. Relief was the the predominate emotion, which meant that guilt and shame followed closely behind. And then there was the sadness. I went into this profession to save every kid, right? Circumstances left me with almost no options for helping a kid in a really desperate situation.
Fast forward a month, and I found myself rushing out of a staff meeting, hoping to make a 6:00pm dinner appointment by 6:30pm, giving myself the half hour cushion I have come to rely on more regularly lately. My assistant principal walked into the staff meeting just as I was heading out and asked if I had a minute. I followed her out in the hallway, and there was Shea. His hair was cut and there was a smile on his face. He had come back to pick up the rest of his things from his desk.
Walking back to class together I asked him about how he was doing in his new school. When he looked inside his desk, he found the few remaining relics of his time with us in our room. I shuffled around hurriedly, still racing the clock to make my dinner. When Shea asked me questions I answered quickly or gave a feeble, "Yeah?" in response, all the while making sure I had packed my computer cord. Sensing I was busy, Shea said, "Well, I miss you Mrs. Swanson."
Without looking up I said, "We miss you too, Shea."
He walked out of the room and I was finally ready, looking once more around the room.
And then my heart caught up with my head.
In the moment it took me to pause and check my room to see if I had forgotten anything, I realized I had forgotten Shea. It occurred to me that I may never see him again; this may be the last time our paths cross. My "busy" was so important that I hadn't been able to recognize the weightiness in this present moment.
I rushed out into the hallway and ran down to the front door, where Shea's grandmother was waiting for him. I gave him a big hug. "Shea! I miss you, too. And I love you. I want you to always remember that." My eyes pricked with tears as I watched him smile and turn to leave.
Three days later I cried with the rest of our country in the horrific deaths of twenty-six beautiful lives. And my thoughts turned back to Shea. None of us know the number of our days. We don't know how much time we have left with those we love. Our lives are so fragile, changing in a moment.
I keep asking myself, what is it I plan to do with my one wild and precious life?
This Christmas, I am thankful for Shea. I am thankful he was able to cut through my self-important busyness and help me to realize the life giving moment right in front of me. I am thankful that he allowed me to stop, and enter the beauty, and the pain, in the present moment.
In the end, all we have are those moments, and then, too soon, they are gone.
