so it's been awhile...

It was hard to keep writing, knowing what I knew, knowing the access to the people who didn't know and might have vested interest when they found out that I wrote a letter of resignation saying I wouldn't be returning to my school come January:

This letter comes to you after much conflicted deliberation.

I won't be returning to teach (at school) after the new year.

Many factors have contributed to this decision, the most prominent and tipping point is about wanting to be a mother. After being somewhat unexpectedly pregnant for the first time last year and miscarrying at 10 weeks while working at (school), I realized how badly I want to have a child. I've been trying to conceive since my body has healed after that experience, so far to no avail. When I recently talked to my doctor about what I might do to be proactive in this process he asked, " Do you have a lot of stress in your life?" and all I could do in response was laugh.

I love my job in so many ways. I love the teaching, the learning, the excitement and even the challenges that arise due to complicated emotional circumstances. I also feel from the bottom of my gut the stress rising up through my chest and my throat every day when some of the afore mentioned conflicts arise. If I spend the rest of the year teaching and don't get pregnant and think for one second that the level of stress at my job had one thing to do with it, I would regret it for the rest of my life. If I relieve myself of the stress and find other ways to live a life of service in my work without so much stress and still don't get pregnant, I will have at least known that I tried. I'm over 40 now. I don't have time to mess with this. I'm sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.

One principal caught me in the hallway, gave me a hug and said to the effect that he was behind me and not to worry about anything. Another wrote me a heartfelt e mail saying she understood. My principal didn't talk to me for nearly two weeks. When she did, she offered up an idea: what if I could work half time? At first I thought no, done, sorry, no. But then - I really really love my kids. And they're really learning so much, and have gelled into this lovely little community, all dysfunction aside. So I came back and agreed that if that were an option, I would take it. It's still not set in stone, but I think I'd be okay with it if it were. Knowing I could go home, stop at the gym, take care of my neglected exhausted body, then go home, be with my dog and cat and write for a few hours before my husband comes home, actually have time to spend with my husband... wow. I'll forgo the sushi and thoughtless shopping and financial stability. I'll patronize my local library more than the bookstores I love. I won't buy myself flowers for our house every week, though that will be a hard habit to break.
I want a more simple life. I can't - no - it's not that - it's that I Don't Want To - act like some sort of superhero every day anymore, exhausting myself, commuting way too far, etc etc.

But I still have stories every day that I've neglected telling in what was this mixture of guilt, fear, and now is such exuberance and relief. If I'd known how it was going to feel after I quit, I would have done it a long time ago. Elation.

I've grown much fonder of my new first graders. Funny how I taught pre school for years and was so accustomed to their neediness. What a difference from second and third graders -
I. is one of my first graders, a little boy with a soft voice and gentleness. He often seems sad, but yesterday was verbal about it. "I'm sad," he told me. "I miss my dad."
"Where's your dad?"
"I can't tell you. My aunt told me not to."
I already had my suspicions.
"Well I'm sure that wherever he is, you are in his heart." I put my hand on his chest to illustrate.
"I can't tell you where he is because the other kids will hear."
"You could whisper in my ear if you want to."
He got close and cupped his hand around my ear. "He's in jail."
He stood back and looked at me.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
I cupped my hand and whispered to him. "My stepson is in jail."

He smiled, slightly, and looked at me. "It's okay," I said. He nodded and seemed satisfied.

He was still sad, though. When we were doing writing assigments I helped him write a letter to his dad. "You are my best dad. I love mommy and daddy forever."

While I was helping him, A. came over to me with a question. Then I asked him, "Hey is it okay if I tell I. where your dad is?"

"He's in jail," A. shrugged.

It's funny. My mother asked me about school, and I told her about I., how he's touched me, how sad he's been the last couple days.

"My God," she said. "These kids lives are so different than kids in a normal school."

Normal school.
I don't imagine the work would be necessarily easier in a "normal school." I don't imagine I would love my kids quite as fiercely, either.