Chapter 61: Game Over
I park the Saturn, loaded with the contents of my office (minus the books and games that wouldn’t fit) outside Books-a-Million and I phone my husband. I coach myself on being brave but when I tell him, I cry.
I try to stop because I can hear the pain in his voice, a pain that he isn’t here to hold me, hug me or comfort me. He works to reassure me with his words: it will be okay, this is for the best, now you can write your book. I choke back the rest of the crying to keep my husband from hurting more.
When I get home, and unpack the car and sit alone on the bed in my beautiful new Florida home that now I might not be able to afford, I cry the rest of the tears, surprised to find there are so many. All the sobs I stifled and swallowed whole, all the unwept tears I trapped and denied, they all rush forward like the opening of a lock on a canal. I cry tears of self-pity, tears of boss loathing and tears of suffering children. I cry tears of frustration, failure and confusion, tears of anger, hate, loss and even loneliness. I cry tears of despair, desperation and the deep depths of depression. I cry me a river.
Then I stop. I have heard that crying depletes the immune system and I don’t want to get sick – I force this somewhat specious notion to triumph over my out-of-control emotions. The tears, like the rushing water in the canal locks, make changes to ensure smooth sailing forward on my journey. I reshape the rest of my tears into words: words for my journal, words for my book, words for emails, words to cope.
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2 comments:
Kathleen,
I would love to see you publish a book! I enjoy your blogs, and think you are a wonderful writer.
But I am sure you're far ahead of me by now, as I am just piecing together your timeline.
Take care, hope you are well.
If I had the time, I'd comment on virtually every chapter. You have documented such a sad, sorry tale, when you write about "bosses" and cultures that are not about educating at all.
Sometimes that reminds me of Pat Conroy's "The River Is Wide" and the movie "Conrack." How tragic that the very best and the most dedicated get ground down and/or are forced to leave either to maintain their own health or sanity, or because "the system" mandates that they be ousted.
And about crying (rivers, or rivulets) - I'm not sure that it really does weaken the immune system. I cry often - as when I read your blog; as when I recount a moving anecdote to my congregation; tears of joy when I begin the year; tears of loss when I leave at its end. And do I ever succumb to infection? So seldom that I may average one common cold a year, and have neither gotten the flu since 1957, nor gotten a flu shot since sometime in the 60s or 70s; otherwise nada!
As to TRAC - Such a 'pie in the sky' idea, but some of us continue to work toward [in my case] the beloved community/transformation.
And when we succeed, in small ways or large, it is such a satisfaction!
I have both profound sympathy and profound respect and admiration for you.
I am just finishing up here in Edinburgh, where transformation has indeed taken place. I'm the first AIM in the UK and the first woman minister at St. Mark's, and as such have been a valuable catalyst.
We can get better and better at what we do, given experience, some hard knocks, and especially, when our seeds are planted in fertile ground.
I'm gonna miss your blogs! Usually the first e-mail I opened on Tuesdays were your postings, unless I saved them for a later moment, to savor.
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