This morning, as I awakened at a very early hour, my first thoughts were that I had to get ready for work. Very quickly, though, I realized I can stretch and linger in bed as long as I choose, for I no longer have a "job" to get to on time, or plans for a day that could often last way longer than the intended eight hours. I am grateful, no doubt, for the luxury and blessing of retirement. That is not to say I didn't love my job, or the many I had over a period of years...from working the chicken broaster at a snack shop in my younger days to the years of being a school principal. If I had to choose a favorite, I believe it would be the years I entered a classroom each morning, greeting my second, fourth or sixth graders and teach to my heart's content. Those were the days and the job never seemed too difficult, yet the stories and situations of students would travel home with me all too often, and even rob me of a bit of sleep from time to time. Yet, there was nothing more magical than having the privilege of teaching, and I probably didn't know it at the time, but those years have become fond memories of a job well loved.
Now, my job is different, and surprisingly, more intense and exhausting than anything I have ever done. I would gladly trade the hours, years of night activities, grading papers, planning school improvement, working as a teacher and principal, for the agenda that I must plan now. That course was set for me, robotic in a way, something I knew to do. This course is unknown, foreign, tumultuous, even terrifying, but it must be learned, I do not have a choice. I am beginning to understand that the walk of grief takes on a new role and that the "job" is never, ever done. I have come to know that sometimes the most simple of tasks may be the only one achieved for any given day. In the early stages, it was all I could do to make dinner or dust the house. Even a simple errand of going to the grocery store or post office was truly monumental. But in doing so, I wove into the normalcy and reality of life outside these walls. I functioned at my real "job" for several months after Allison was gone, although I have very little recollection of how I did it. I watched myself go through the motions and hours of a school day, only to come home and maneuver through family and domestic life. Still, some days, the simple task of getting the ball of activity rolling again takes all my strength and stamina, but I do it. I take the initiative to follow the nudge and do what is needed to restore balance and breath into my life. I may not accomplish much in the eyes of others, but for me, the movement is a sign of living and doing and figuring out my life's work. No, I cannot imagine my life in the trenches of a real "job" again, and I marvel at how much I could pack into one day, back IN the day. My pace is different and I get to take on what is mine to handle. I savor the small opportunities to read, bake, clean, walk, listen, pray and breathe. I know that sometimes others wonder how a person who filled a day so well in the past can not really describe what she does in the present.
I have had some who have said to me, "I wish I were you", and I know what they mean. They are not thinking of the walk of grief, the valley of darkness that takes every fiber of my soul to rise above from, the depths of pain and loss that can only be described as if my heart has been ripped out...they are only thinking and acknowledging what their eyes see or what they perceive...and I get that. But, I do often want to say, "no, you don't wish you were me"...I wouldn't wish any mother to bury her child and live this uncharted, unknown realm, EVEN though I have each day to myself and don't have to attend a real "job". But I do understand and count the blessing of a new "job", an opportunity unlike many, a chance to find my place, to do my work, and to follow the nudge God gives.
I am reminded of a quote that helps me understand that for each of us, our life work is different, and I cling to it when my subconscious tries to take me in a direction I am not comfortable with, or when shades of guilt filter, sending me messages like, "shouldn't you be working", "isn't there more you can be doing"...God shows me I AM doing what matters, whether making a difference in the classroom, or tending to myself and those I love. As I learn my new "job", I thank God for providing me, all these years, with everything I need to bring me to this moment in time.
"Definite work is not always that which is cut and squared for us, but that which comes as a claim upon the conscience, whether it's nursing in a hospital, or hemming a handkerchief"....by Elizabeth Sewell
May our "jobs" bring us fulfillment and joy, love, Kathy
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