a hole where the lightening went through

Sometimes there are those mornings where you wake up and everything is fine. Today is going to be a normal day, you think to yourself. You drink your coffee and eat your breakfast like every other day, and then head off to work. Then at work instead of a normal staff meeting in the morning, there is a box of kleenex on the table and the principal looks somber.

There was a lady who worked at my school for years and years and years. I only met her a few times and emailed her once or twice, but I heard such great stories about her from other teachers and also students. A while ago, maybe a year or so, she was diagnosed with cancer; her health was up and down like these things tend to be, but the whole school was fervently praying and some were fasting and holding benefit concerts and felt like something good was going to happen.

As soon as we saw the kleenex on the table, everyone knew what the principal was going to say. I started crying, and instantly felt bad for doing so, because all the people around me knew her so much better than I did. I didn't know if I had the right to be as sad as I was, because I'd only just met her.

I was still crying when I had to go open the door for my students, and they all asked me what was going on but I couldn't tell them until we had an assembly. I cried in front of all of my classes today, which felt strange. I'm supposed to be the grown-up in these situations. The teacher is supposed to be strong for the students, right? I wonder if I'll ever get the hang of that.

Most of the students in the high school went home after lunch, so for the rest of the afternoon the remaining students were wandering the halls, watching The Emperor's New Groove in one classroom and Mr. Bean in another. Some of my grade sevens were complaining about how boring it was and why aren't we learning anything, and I became angry with them because didn't they understand? But then I realized that no, they didn't. They're still just little, and not all of them knew her because she'd never taught them.

Finally the bell rang and everybody left. It was a weird, terrible day, and being sad is exhausting but now I can't sleep. I don't know what's going to happen on Monday. Are we going to go back to normal? How are we supposed to feel? I realized that when I'm not surrounded by people who are devastated by this loss, I don't feel as sad. A lot of my tears are triggered by being around people who are crying. That makes me wonder if any of my feelings are real.