This box represents so much to me.
We picked up our kids’ school materials last weekend to prepare for an indefinite period of homeschooling. Like the rest of the known universe, our schools are closed. I am henceforth in charge of simultaneously managing the formal education of a 6th grader and a 2nd grader. I teach adults for a living; I’m well aware that I have neither the skills nor the patience to engage in primary school instruction. This box represents unfamiliar territory.
The amazing teachers, administrators, and counselors at the school cleaned out lockers and desks (think about all of the fun and yucky stuff they found). Then they packaged all the supplies we would need to ease the transition. They put everything into carefully labeled boxes for the kids, ready to be opened and absorbed in a new environment. This box represents a dedication to learning.
I felt the love and attention each box was given as they were carefully loaded by volunteers into the car. But something wasn’t right; it felt cold. The sterility and caution of the current environment was apparent. Everyone wore gloves and stood awkwardly far apart from each other. The typical warmth of our school community was missing. This box represents social distancing.
It broke my heart to tell my daughter she couldn’t get out of the car to hug her favorite principal when we arrived at school. Teachers were fighting back tears as they waved from afar and told us how much they missed their students. This week we’ve gotten so many emails and check-ins from everyone at school saying how hard the physical separation is. We feel it. This box represents the love teachers have for their students.
We’ve spent the last week foraging through the books and supplies in the box. Both kids were relieved to have familiar materials as we worked through the first week of homeschool. The textbooks, pencil stubs, and incomplete sets of crayons provided surprising comfort. This box represents my kids’ nervous excitement about schooling at home.
This is our daughter’s last year on the ‘lower’ campus of our school. The thought of her not returning to her second-grade classroom, sitting with her friends, and listening to her fantastic teacher is devastating. She may not swing at recess or eat in the cafeteria or worship in the chapel again. This box represents an unfamiliar grief.
Our first week of distance learning, utilizing the tools carefully packed in this box, was fraught with highs and lows. We are all adjusting and finding ways to connect to the material, to normalcy, and to each other. There were no instructions in the box. There were no answers in the box. This box represents an indefinite period of uncertainty.
Also, I’m really delayed in getting this post together. It has been on my ‘To Do’ list for almost a week. I find my ability to focus and prioritize my own needs has significantly diminished in quarantine. I’m working hardest to preserve calm and stability within the walls of our home without the freedom of exploration or luxury of socialization. And we’re adjusting. We’re practicing grace and finding fun where we are instead of seeking it somewhere else. This box represents a new (albeit temporary) normal.
Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome.
Brene Brown
I wish I could jump out of that box for a fun surprise and hug you all!!!
I have no doubt that your kids’ lives are being enriched at home with their fabulous parents. The grief and sadness and fear is real. Slowing down the curve of this horrible virus allows us to spike the curve of family memories. Your overachieving ways are always a joy to behold and I have no doubt your entire family will look back on this time with fondness! Virtual love and hugs!!!
Oh , Alicia. This post made me cry. I miss that white hot sunshine of Corinne’s toothless smile. I miss the 125 tight-squeeze hugs I get a day from all my angels at “work.” I miss the limitless opportunities to make children smile, up close, every day. The silver lining, which we are all called (challenged) to find during this time, is that families have now been given that same limitless opportunity. This substantial time kids will have with mom and dad and siblings is a precious, precious gift. Ordinarily, Saturday and Sunday, after a week of accumulated household “to do” items didn’t afford as much. Sure, kids are missing out on a lot by not being at school. But we know that ultimately we’ll get them where they need to be academically. Socially, they’ll get right back in that groove. But having you right there, for them and with them, 24/7 to give them 125 hugs a day if that’s what they need, is a gift we may never have the opportunity to give again in our lifetimes.
Talk about grief? I wish I had a way to adequately express just how much these teachers are missing their students. They are grief-stricken. The level of genuine sadness that these ladies are experiencing from the loss of being with their students every day would be, I’m sure, a bizarre but solid comfort to parents. There is such peace of mind in knowing that your child is surrounded by people who genuinely love her. Please give those angels of yours a squeeze from me. Sending so much love, Lauren
Alicia, this is a beautiful testament to what so many of us are feeling. I love the Brene Brown quote at the bottom. I think we are all finding that “showing up” right now looks and feels different than it used to – but it’s so important in the new form. Miss you sweet friend!