Kids These Days

Sometimes I'm asked why I want to stay in education. Politically, the profession is maligned. In practice, accountability has resulted in an emphasis of evaluation (of all parties) that has brought fear instead of passion to the forefront. So why does one choose to stay? It's simple. It's the "kids these days".

Today would have been my nephew Ronan's fourth birthday. So bittersweet are anniversaries. You try to focus on the love, the lessons, the people that have been brought together through his life of miracles. But it still is an anniversary of loss. Today, as I choose to remember the blessings that I have because of Ronan's life, I remember a particular group of students. My second group of International Baccalaureate Diploma Students. On the 1st anniversary of Ronan's birth, I celebrated by planning a service day with my students. They learned how to quilt by making baby quilts for our Wrapped in Love project my sister and I created to honor Phoebe and Ronan. They did so with enthusiasm. They already knew Ronan and Phoebe's story, so there was a connection for them, too.

But, in addition to the service projects, those students were there for me. They knew it was a tough day. I received hugs. We shared angel food cupcakes in celebration. And it was the best way to spend such a difficult day. At the end of the day, one of my blessings is knowing that this generation will be the ones in charge during my golden years. They have a combination of ambition, intelligence, and the need to change things, from a foundation of empathy, that I know the world is not just going to be all right. It's going to be a better place. Because of #kidsthesedays.

So why do I stay in education? Because I can't imagine not having the pleasure of working with such amazing people. Thank you Rachel, Tori, Kara, Marissa, Matthew, Patrick,Steven, and Anna.

I Got You A Present....

So as I get off the trail after work this evening, I check my phone and see that there is a text from Bennett that reads "I got you a present". "Intrigued" was my reply. I know what he makes, so I'm pretty sure we're not flying back to France.

I had recommended a great little restaurant in downtown Port Huron, Kate's Downtown, and he and a friend went there for lunch today. In addition to their restaurant menu they had fresh baked goods for sale. Bennett and I enjoy fruity, nutty breads for french toast, so he bought a loaf of cranberry walnut bread as a present for me.

Truly a simple thing, a loaf of bread. But the thoughtfulness behind the gift has me so grateful that I have the privilege to be the mother of this amazing young man. And looking forward to breakfast tomorrow.

My wish is that today you are blessed with simple acts of kindness. And if you find yourself lacking, as my friend Lisa always says, you can be that kindness to someone else.

Remembrance-I didn't want to add a name

Remembrance. It's a very personal thing. The way we hold those that we have lost close to use. Many people find comfort in the images or objects that appear; hearts, rainbows, birds, the color of the sky, butterflies. The appearance of these images, while ordinary, take on symbolic meaning in the connection or association of remembrance. For me, finding peace in nature, I have a remembrance tree, a Mighty Oak, at a county park. It has been my ritual for the past two years, to stop at this tree as I hike the park. I place my hand on the trunk and look up through the branches to the heavens and I speak the names of the babies of those I love who were taken from us too son. Jenna, Phoebe, Oakes, Elizabeth, Noah and Ronan.  My gift of remembrance to their mommies, so very small, is to always remember them by speaking their names. That their names are part of this world and my experience. 

Today. Today was difficult. Today I changed my remembrance ritual. Not just by adding a name, but by adding a name that didn't belong to an infant. My nephew, Capt. Jonathan Wynkoop, was killed in an Army training accident last Tuesday. It was devastating. Tragic. In a way very different than the loss of an infant. Not more or less, because grief is not measured in that way. But profound.

Is it because my sister-in-law Barb, whom I adore, is now part of the group of mommies I love that have lost their child? Partly. I understand grief differently now, after the loss of my Phoebe and Ronan. I understand the helplessness of those that love those that have lost. There is nothing that can be done. No words. No actions. Nothing that can bring back her son or ease the pain of loss. It's also because someone else that I love is living my worst nightmare. One of the connections that Barb and I share is that we love children, wanted many. But were blessed with only one child. A son. They are our life. 

But also, also Jonathan was very important to me. My favorite Wynkoop nephew. I told him this often. Many people today are mourning the loss Jon. Of the very handsome, intelligent, leader of a man that Jonathan had become. His intelligence is evident not only in his academic achievement, of which there are many, but in his choices. Especially that of his wife Rachel. Together they created a family with three beautiful children. Who are now left with to grow without their father. For he was my connection; my connection to my husband's family. My entrance in the family was not necessarily easy. As the second wife, it's complicated. While the family was kind, and welcoming, that does not mean it wasn't complicated. Except for Jonathan. Jonathan was three years old the first time we met. I remember our first Thanksgiving together. 1990. I remember lots of cuddles, endless reading of stories, building with blocks, pretending to be dogs (Jonathan ALWAYS loved dogs). I remember him totally capturing my heart with his big blue eyes and his sweet smile. To him, here was nothing complicated about me being part of the family. I was just his Aunt Rachelle. 

As he grew, there were less cuddles. There was a time he no longer needed to hold my hand when we went to play at the playground near Grandma and Grandpa Wynkoop's. The teen years, where there is always more grunting than actual words. But he always indulged my need to love on him. To give him hugs that big boys and large men don't always feel comfortable with. You want to convey how much they mean in a squeeze of contact. The last time, It was hard to get my big squeeze in as my sweet nephew had become a great soldier of a man; t was difficult to get my arms around all that muscle. 

The last couple of years, between deployments and limited time off, I've spent more time with Rachel and the kids with Jonathan. I've been blessed to see the pictures of him holding his children. A tenderness and love in the hugs and look in his eye that belie the soldier he had become. This past Christmas, his oldest was the same age that Jonathan was when we met. With a mischievous smile, and a busy personality. There was so much of his dad. I loved that his daughter snuggled right up with me, falling asleep in my arms. That the baby loved his mama and grandma and wanted to watch all the craziness in their arms. While I wasn't able to give Jonathan my squeezes, spending time with his beautiful family, knowing that he was a part of their joy and confidence, not only made my day but will be my connection to him forever. 

I am going to miss my nephew. Although not nearly as much as his mother, father, wife and children. I will cherish the memories, and look forward to watching his children grow. And being their Aunt Rachelle. There is a great big empty place that my arms want to hug. I will miss my favorite Wynkoop nephew. And it has to nothing to do with the fact that he was my only one.