(I seem to be writing a lot of letters via this blog these days.)
I just left most of you at the calling hours for one of our colleagues.
Did I really just type that?
During this time, I hugged all of you; we stated our shock that we were even there; you said you "heard the news" and offered your congratulations; and then we guffawed at how much shorter my new commute will be, as though making this move to a new district was a no-brainer.
Did we really just talk about that at a funeral?
(And for my non CMS readers, I accepted a position at another school district.)
I walked out to my car with one of you, saw some former students on the way, and got into my car.
As I merged on to Ronald Reagan Highway, Landslide came on the radio.
I ugly cried from Ronald Reagan all the way to 71--and you know Landslide ain't that long of a song.
I nearly had to pull over as mascara flooded--and stung!--my eyes.
Now, part of this could be that I've decided to change nearly every aspect of my daily life in a very short period of time; part of this could be that I was mourning the loss of our Angie.
But more than anything, I was mourning the loss of all of you.
I have been feeling for the past few days like I just broke up with a boyfriend, and although I was done with the boy, I wasn't done with his family. I didn't want to lose the physical or emotional connection that I had developed with them.
I keep using the words "loss" and "lose," and to be honest, social media will never ever let me lose any of you.
What I will miss is the daily interaction...the smell of coffee in the office; the copy machine jammed at 7:05 a.m.; sneaking goodies left on the counter; begging the secretaries for another pack of post-its, or white out, or poster board, or five minutes of sanity; talking to my neighbors in the hall between bells about the ridiculous class we just had, or the latest glitch in ProgressBook, or what we are doing on Spring Break (because there is one this year!); the sign-up sheet for the holiday luncheon...and check out days; and the annual kick line to the Hallelujah chorus down the center hall on the very last day.
What I won't miss is the smell of onions on chili days.
Or waiting to pee between bells.
Or the roaches.
And there will be new coffee smells, and new neighbors to gossip with, and new secretaries to beg for supplies from, and new copy machines to curse at, restroom lines to wait in, computer programs to abhor, and holiday luncheons to make spinach dip for.
But there will not be your faces next to these things.
To say this CMS family has been dealt enough tragedy to fill an NBC dramedy (because we are a bit comical as well) would be absolutely accurate.
And what holds each one of us up is the heart and soul we don't just pour into our classrooms, but into each other.
Because that's family.
So many faces at Angie's funeral tonight that have long retired and moved on, and they come back because it's what you do when it's family.
I don't know that any other profession, or even building in our district, could possibly understand how close we are.
That connection...well, I'm going to miss it.
On a personal note, yet related, I'm not dealing well with leaving you. This is mostly because I don't take kindly to change, and I'll be the first to admit it. Little things, like a change in manicure, or a change in type of car, I can handle. But this whole life upheaval is freaking me out.
As you know, Greg and I left the first Kauffman homestead this weekend. We went back on Sunday to grab a few outdoor items, and to mow one last time, and laying in our (now former) side yard, was a dead cardinal.
The irony wasn't lost on me (non CMS people--Colerain's mascot is the cardinal).
One day later, we were running home from the gym back to my dad's house (where we are staying temporarily), and some of the neighbors stopped us.
"Look at this baby hawk," they said. "She fell from the tree. She seems to be doing okay...just trying to show her the way back home."
And again...my new school's mascot? Well, although not a hawk, a bird of prey: Eagle.
So when the Universe played Landslide as I left the funeral--and all of you--behind, the irony in how I was feeling in that moment was so palpable.
I've been afraid of changing cause I built my life around you.
I'm taking my heart with me, but I'm leaving every last bit of love for my cardinals.
Take care of each other.
Then again, it's what
Kristin
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