WHAT ABOUT MY DAD, MRS. C.?

September 11, 2001…I was a reading resource teacher at an elementary school in New Mexico. My classroom was a separate portable. My students came to me in small groups from their classes to learn the skills of reading. They ranged from 4th to 6th grade.  Most of my students just called me Mrs. C.
 

That year had already been one of upheaval for me.  My husband of 32 years left that April.  My children were grown and out of the house.....spread out between three states.  My middle son was in the military reserves.  My daughter had just given birth to my first grandchild...a girl, Erin.  My parents were in Kentucky, my brothers in Illinois and Idaho.  

  I was very much alone in rural New Mexico..


There was a group of us that always arrived at school before 7 a.m.   I was standing outside our young counselor’s office discussing the anticipated arrival of her husband, who had been on an extended business trip.  His plane had taken off an hour before. Someone bumped my shoulder in passing saying that a plane had hit one of the Twin Towers.

Our library was in the center of the school surrounded by glass walls…I could look down the hall and see our group starting to gather there. New Mexico is 2 hours behind New York…we had lots of time to check this out. The counselor and I went to join with the rest of the early arrival teachers to see what had happened.

At that time the Twin Towers barely registered on my radar. But as we watched we saw the 2nd plane hit….  this was an attack. Then the crash into the Pentagon was announced.  By that time our principal had arrived. He was saying that we had to go on with our day and to just teach. We had to keep the children calm and unaware of what had happened. He said we should not turn on the TVs in our rooms.


The bell rang….
The principal meant well but he did not consider, that by the time the kids arrived, most had already seen the attack on TV before they got to school.  Some parents kept their children home…but most came.

My my first group of five students came through my door.  All were full of questions. They were scared and confused about what was happening. Among them was Steven.

Steven was a strikingly handsome 5th grade boy with green eyes and sandy hair. He was bright, curious, intuitive and dyslexic. His parents had just gone through a bitter divorce. His father was a fighter pilot in the Air Force and currently based in California. Steven and his dad were very close…this separation had been terrible for both of them.






Steven kept looking at the blank TV while maintaining a constant rocking motion in his chair. I touched him on his shoulder … he just looked at me and blurted out, WHAT ABOUT MY DAD MRS. C.? I HAVE TO KNOW!


The other kids at the table agreed with him. What was going on?
So…..considering that my principal had NEVER visited my portable..... I took a chance, defied orders, and turned on the TV.
We could only get ABC.   Peter Jennings was in his shirt sleeves, looking very haggard, and telling us what was happening in real time.

We sat, the five kids and me, watching.   And as we watched they asked:


WHO MRS. C? (Al Qaeda, Osama Bin Laden ..probably..(I still do not know how I knew that) )


WHY MRS. C.? ( Evil…that is their only reason…evil wants to hurt)


WHERE MRS. C.? (New York City, Washington DC, Pennsylvania)


ARE THEY COMING HERE MRS. C.? (No, they wanted to hurt places that stood for our success, and protection, and freedom…we are too small…you are safe)


And all the while Steven sat next to me holding my hand under the table.

The bell rang…time for the next group to come in. Steven looked at me, reluctantly let go of my hand,  and slowly left.

As the kids arrived they saw the TV on and all just sat down at the table.  They had the same questions…and asked why their teachers did not have the TV on like me? I told them that nobody wanted them to be upset.  One little girl, Gabby, said, IT IS BETTER TO KNOW.  I told her I thought so too.

Then my phone rang. It was Steven’s teacher. She told me that he wanted to come back to me because he was worried about his dad. She tried to call his mother but there was no answer.  She said he refused to go to the counselor...he just wanted Mrs. C.  He could not concentrate on his work…she asked if it would be a problem…I told her to send him. Odd how none of the kids told that I had the TV on.

So Steven returned… sat down next to me…took hold of my hand …and asked again, WHAT ABOUT MY DAD MRS. C.?


I told him his father was a protector.  The planes that were crashing were passenger planes, not fighter jets.  I said that it was his dad’s job to fight these terrible people and that he was a hero for wanting to do that.  I told him his father was REALLY good at his job and it would keep him safe. And I told him that his father would feel how much Steven loved him because we were sitting here... holding hands... and thinking powerful thoughts about him..

Steven stayed with me all that day. My small groups of students filed in and out…all with questions about what they were seeing. We watched together and I tried to help them make sense out of this terrible day and to calm their anxieties with information about what they were seeing.

During lunch I got calls from the lunch aides…some of my students had asked to eat in Mrs. C.s room….was that ok? So they filed in and we sat with our trays of school lunch and watched the buildings in rubble, and the people covered in ash, and the stricken looks on the first responders. NONE of the kids had said anything to anybody about me having the TV on.

And the whole time Steven just held onto my hand.

At the end of the day I walked Steven out to the bus loop. He was still holding my hand. He finally let go as he stepped up to board the bus. But he turned and asked one more time….

MY DAD, MRS.C…HE‘S OK RIGHT?   I said, I KNOW he is ok Steven.  He will call you as soon as he is able.  Don't  worry if it is not right away…he is a soldier and has to do his duty first.  Steven just nodded and got on the bus.






The school day was over…our counselor’s husband’s plane had been grounded, along with every other plane flying over America. He was safe,  but did not know when he would get back. I went home. I called my kids, my parents, and my brothers...we all tried to connect and reassure each other over the distance that separated us..

 I turned on the TV, and with my three dogs curled beside me, watched, alone, as the horrors of  9/11 continued to unfold.

That evening the phone rang….it was Steven’s mother. All she said was that Steven had to talk to me.


YOU WERE RIGHT MRS.C.!   MY DAD JUST CALLED!   HE’S OK!  HE SAID HE KNEW I WAS THINKING ABOUT HIM!   HE FELT ME IN HIS HEART MRS. C.!
I told Steven how happy I was to hear this good news...I told him tomorrow was going to be a good day…
YES IT IS MRS.C.!   GOOD BYE  MRS.C!  YOU'RE MY REALLY BEST TEACHER MRS.C.! 


Steven’s mother got back on the phone and said Steven told her how I never let go of his hand (she was crying)…I did not tell her that he also never let go of mine.

Steven learned to read.  He moved the following year.  I never saw him again.  He would be about 20 years old now. I know he remembers.

 But what Steven will never know is this.... On September 11, 2001, his hand, clinging to mine, was the only meaningful human touch I had..… it was all and everything good on a very, VERY bad day.

THE "I" OF THE STORM

2005 was a record year for hurricanes in the western hemisphere, with 13 named storms hitting the continental United States alone.  Hurricane Wilma (the forgotten one) was the last of these storms, making landfall in Southwest Florida, just south of Naples, on Monday, October 24, 2005 with winds of 125 mph.

 Wilma was the most intense tropical cyclone ever recorded in the Atlantic basin.



Wilma was the twenty-second storm, the thirteenth hurricane,  the sixth major hurricane, and the fourth Category 5 hurricane of the record-breaking 2005 season.


Wilma is ranked among the top five most costly hurricanes ever recorded in the Atlantic and the fourth most costly storm in United States history. Over 60 people were killed by the time it was over.

 Due to significant damage in Mexico and Florida, the name Wilma was officially retired in April 2006 by the World Meteorological Organization, and will never be used for an Atlantic storm again. It was replaced by Whitney on List III of the Atlantic hurricane naming lists which is used next in the 2011 season. This also made Wilma the first W name to be retired in the Atlantic basin.


On Sunday, the 23rd of October 2005, my mother, 3 dogs, and I evacuated to Haines City which is between Tampa and Orlando.  I remember driving out of my community on that perfect Florida morning...all the flowers in bright colors, the waving palms, and a clear, clear day. We were rather stunned to be having to do this so late in the hurricane season.

 We stayed at the Howard Johnson's with what appeared to be most of the population of  Naples and Marco Island and their various dogs and cats... (the motel allowed pets during emergencies). 

 As it turned out Wilma was so massive that we spent the night and Monday in a violent tropical storm.  We had not gone far enough north.... Wilma covered the entire state.

We drove back on Tuesday morning not knowing what we would find.
Davis Avenue, one of our main streets,  looked like a war zone.  All the telephone poles were down, the palms were ripped up, and the signals were out.  All the flowers were gone.  On many buildings and metal light poles the paint had been stripped down to the primer by the wind.

Neither one of us knew what we would find when we arrived at our homes.  As it turned out all was ok. My cul de sac had stood up to the storm and so did my mother's villa.   

My mother was lucky...her home is on the government emergency grid so she still had power...the rest of us did not.  My half of my community would be among the very last to regain our electricity over a week and a half l later.  We were grateful that this was late in the season and air conditioning was not needed.....it made a huge difference.

Debris was everywhere.  But that afternoon all of us were out cleaning up.  There were mountains of debris lining all the streets for weeks. On some streets throughout Naples there was not a roof that did not have a blue tarp on it..we joked about it...and were guiltily glad that it was not our house.

  We helped each other....and we reached out to help the poorest in our county. Those areas were hit particularly hard.  I always look back with pride at the way Florida handled all these storms.

 But it damaged all of us to greater or lesser degrees.  As the 2006 hurricane season approached the anxiety level rose. All year long people talked about Wilma...in stores, on the golf course, in restaurants, on the street.   Radio announcements started occurring about support lines that could be accessed for anxiety and depression brought on by the storms.  There were public service spots targeting children who  had become fearful of rain and thunder.

Then the first tropical waves started to appear in the Atlantic and we held our collective breath. These storms damage more than property and livelihoods. They become the terrorist in your psyche.

I wrote this in June of 2006 after returning home from the grocery store.  I had stood in line with about six other people and all we discussed was the state of the Atlantic... the new wave....I saw that all had the same look on their faces and the same fear in their voices.....the same look that I knew was on my face...the same fear that was in my voice......it never goes away....


POST TRAUMATIC

We have hurricane eyes.

We recognize each other as we stand in line to buy our water and batteries amongst the blue-tarped roofs and dying palms.

The season is upon us again.

That, now so familiar, cold niggle of fear returns like worms in our bellies as we watch the first tropical wave crawl across the Atlantic.

Devastation as entertainment, the media records the events, enthralled by the force, but leaves us to recover unnoticed.

It is still broken here and the storms gather like wolves.

We have hurricane eyes.....

THE SITUATION ROOM

If you have read my last two blog entries then you already know that I lost BOTH my dogs within one week of each other ( in other words…they DIED).

Since then I have been experiencing what is cleverly called SITUATIONAL DEPRESSION…I guess because my SITUATION has been REALLY depressing!


The question has been …. how do I get through the depression until I get used to my new situation…which is a house completely devoid of another living thing.

Being a woman my first reaction to my SITUATION (between crying jags) was to spend a lot of time in a deep relationship with Chocolate Chunk Cherry ice cream. This actually worked until I crashed into a hypoglycemic canyon….I have now eliminated sugar from my life (it makes me sad).

Then I went online (of course) and googled …trying to find suggestions that would magically make me feel better. I will share a few that appeared (and yes these really did appear):


Get outside and get some sun! The Vitamin D is good for you!..  (but at my age it makes me look like crushed leather)

Take a multivitamin (seriously…um…what I took was St. John’s Wort…trust me, it works)

Write a hand-written letter to someone (no…no…spent many years waiting for the technology that would free me from writing by hand)


Go for a long walk (this did not work as the walk thing is what I did with one of my dogs and all it did was make me sad)


Paint your toenails a funky color (except that would draw attention to my old feet which are funky enough)

Drink more water ..(why)


Make an effort to chat someone up in public  (This mostly consisted of telling random strangers that my dogs were dead…which I admit elicited sympathy but then they all wanted to tell me about their dead dogs and this made us all sad)


Buy a slinky and let it crawl down a set of stairs in public ( do NOT try this on an escalator……they get caught in a never ending cycle…..slinkies are now on the list of THINGS THAT MAKE ME SAD)

 Watch Sex in the City ( When I first saw this I thought it said WATCH SEX….which had its possibilities but then I would have had to add it to my COMCAST bill and…COMCAST already makes me sad …)


Read “O” magazine ( upon exploration I found that the first article was about how pets enhance lives….”O “now makes me sad)

Take a nap (this was pretty much how I had spent my days…when I wasn’t crying or eating ice cream..I guess I was only supposed to take A nap..not make it a lifestyle)


Start a postcard collection (and I would do this WHY?)

Smile at everyone you think is hot that walks by you (I live in Florida…EVERYONE is hot!..)


Instead of fussing over “extra pounds” use “ FAT IS WHERE IT’S AT as your mantra (this kind of supports my CHOCOLATE CHUNK CHERRY approach)


Write a poem (I did that…it was about my DEAD DOGS!)


Use a lotion with self tanner in it, or self tanner… the glow will make you feel better (it didn’t)

 Cut down on your caffeine intake (uh…caffeine was the only thing that kept me from the napping lifestyle…)


Buy a jump rope and burn calories while you have fun (have a foot neuroma….NOT going to happen)


Tell that guy being a jerk to go f@#k himself. (yes…could do that except the GUYS in my life who are jerks are all middle school adolescents and I am their teacher…bad form..and I NEED my job)

Every time you look in the mirror, tell yourself you’re a sexy bitch, even if people are around! (I am still trying to get a visual on this one)

Get a sexy shade of lip gloss (because everyone knows that lip gloss makes you forget….)


Watch Saturday morning cartoons (like Clifford, The Big Red DOG)

Keep a kit of daily necessities you can’t live without by your side at all times (like ice cream, Kleenex, and a pillow).


Join a social networking group (People Who Have Dead Dogs)

Spend time with children and elders ( I am a teacher and my mother lives in the community next door to mine…..enough said?)

Don’t spend time with negative people (I teach middle school…..)


Meditate (Why are my dogs dead…oommmmmmmm)

Take frequent “breathers” at work ( hello…I teach MIDDLE SCHOOL!! )


Invest in a down comforter (Florida…we do not understand down comforters)


Let bullshit roll off your shoulders (I actually put this one into practice)

So how, you ask, have I spent my days? It is all about distraction….

I found the game, ZUMA, to have a therapeutic effect. To play it one has to concentrate and when one is concentrating one is distracted…ZUMA…lots and lots of ZUMA.


And, speaking of distraction, I want to thank the creators of the following TV series… FALLING SKIES, MTV’S TEEN WOLF, and MEMPHIS BEAT. All just had their season finales…you got me through the month with three consecutive nights of weekly episodic anticipation.

I am a reader but if you look to the right at my reading list you will notice that THE COMING REVOLUTION is still in progress (sorry Walid…but trying to focus and teach myself about what the hell is going on in our world makes me sad).


ATLAS SHRUGGED is only half read…( Objectivism makes me sad.)


But, I HAVE completed 2 foo foo mysteries, 1 ghost story, and 1 young adult novel.. ….distraction.


And…now my awful summer has ended.  I have completed my first week back at work…remember…middle school teacher?   My duties have changed dramatically and have immersed me in distraction.  However, I did learn that, when my happy enthusiastic colleagues asked me how my summer was I should not have blurted out MY DOGS DIED!

Depression is a thief.  It steals all the fun out of life and leaves you trying to cope without the tools you need.  Humor is one of those tools, and it's more important than one might think.  I HAD a sense of humor until my SITUATION became DEPRESSING.  I am trying to recover it.   So I leave you with some jokes:

Welcome to the Psychiatric Hotline.


If you are obsessive-compulsive, please press 1 repeatedly.


If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2.


If you have multiple personalities, please press 3, 4, 5, and 6.


If you are paranoid-delusional, we know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line so we can trace the call.


If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press.


If you are depressed, it doesn't matter which number you press. No one will answer.


If you are delusional and occasionally hallucinate, please be aware that the thing you are holding on the side of your head is alive and about to bite off your ear.


 I was depressed last night so I called Lifeline. They've got a call center in Pakistan. I told them I hated my life.... They got all excited and asked if I could drive a truck.




 I was walking along the beach when I kicked a bottle poking up through the sand. Opening it, I was astonished to see a cloud of smoke and a genie smiling at me.


"For your kindness," the genie said, "I will grant you one wish!" I paused, laughed, and replied, "I have always wanted a road from Hawaii to California."


The genie grimaced, thought for a few minutes and said, "Listen, I'm sorry, but I can't do that! Think of all the pilings needed to hold up the highway and how long they'd have to be to reach the bottom of the ocean. Think of all the pavement. That's too much to ask."


"OK," I said, not wanting to be unreasonable. . Make me understand ME. What makes me laugh and cry, why am I temperamental, why am I so difficult to get along with, what do I really want? Basically, teach me to understand what makes ME tick!"


The genie paused, and then sighed, "Did you want two lanes or four?"