Trying to Understand

The shocking death of young mother, teacher, daughter, sister- Brooke - leaves us trying to understand. Our minds cannot wrap around the fact that she is gone. We won't see her lovely smile again. Her children have lost their loving, talented mother. Last night at the funeral home there were photos from her short life reminding everyone of the fun-loving child and beautiful young teen that she had been. There were photos of the blossoming woman, waiting for the birth of a child.
I didn't know Brooke very well. We worked together. I was old enough to be her mother. My daughter is the same age. I can't imagine how much her mother misses her. But as I read Milton's blog, something he wrote made me think of Brooke. She lives in our memories of her, in the memories of her children, in the memories of her former students. Brooke's life was much too short. We grieve for what she will miss and we will miss her. I hope we will remember her wonderful, creative life and not dwell on any other part of her passing. We should be glad we had this time together.

Emotional Chameleon

A long time ago someone I worked with told me I was an emotional chameleon when I teared up after hearing a touching story. I wondered what exactly she meant by that. I wasn't insulted but I don't think she meant it as a compliment. I recently repeated the phrase in a conversation with Vicki. Hi, Vicki! And that started me thinking about what being an emotional chameleon means to me. I think it allows me to have empathy for others. When I read or hear a story, I feel the story is happening to me. This may be why I like to read aloud to my students. I can make the story come alive with my voice. I was sort of a shy child but I always like to have a part in school plays. I think I liked the freedom to be someone else. I guess I could use this ability to make people feel sorry for me or exploit my ability to cry at the drop of a hat. But I won't. I'll just keep on reading books to kids, using funny voices, and hope some of them find this makes books more enjoyable and fascinating.

Redbuds Again

Okay, I have to write again about redbud trees. Today I saw the first pinkish blooms on the redbud trees on my way home. I love the way they look against the bare tree trunks and branches. They also remind me of my favorite aunt. She helped me plant a twig of redbud in our front yard on Robinson Street when I was about nine. That would be about 50 years ago-but the memory is quite clear. I miss her.