And then it hit me... it hit me HARD

Sometimes, there are moments that come at you like a ton of bricks.

I've grown up in a generation where we can easily and quickly answer the question, 'Where were you on 9/11' and just like yesterday, we can tell that story... with tears in our eyes... even until this day.

And now... now I am part of a generation of teachers that can remember exactly what happened on 3-13-2020 ... and we can tell that story... with tears in our eyes, too.

This weekend, I was finally able to get the COVID-19 Johnson and Johnson Vaccine.   I had been so incredibly frustrated because I wasn't able to "score" the other vaccines.   I'm auto-immune compromised.  I make no secret of that.   I have Hashimoto's.   I'm a cancer survivor.   I have had multiple miscarriages.   I have PCOS.   I am blessed with two miracle children, who, ironically, do NOT wish to play soccer even though BOTH of them broke my ribs during pregnancy which gave me adult onset asthma.

When I came down with COVID in November, I honestly thought this was "it."  I was terrified.   I was TERRIFIED that this was going to be "it" for me.... the thing I could not "beat."    I even made sure my husband knew exactly "what I wanted" ... you know.... "just in case."

When I arrived at the vaccination site, I felt incredibly overwhelmed.   Military men and women helping, teachers everywhere, and a mixture of smiles and tears.   As I sat down for my consult, I observed one man walking away in tears.   Another man asked him, "Did it hurt?"  He said, "No, but I feel like I'm getting closure and closer to what was."

Because I'm a high-risker, I had to wait 40 minutes before I was permitted to leave.   I sat in a socially distanced room and reflected.    I don't know why, perhaps it was a side effect, perhaps it was emotion, but I was feeling incredibly dizzy.    When I was cleared to leave, I thanked our service men and women holding back tears.    Getting back into the car, I just cried.   And at first, I could not for the life of me figure out WHY I was crying.    And then I thought of the man who mentioned 'closure' and 'closer.'

It hit me.   It hit me HARD.

I remember where I was on 3-13-20.

It was an inservice day.

I had NO idea it would be the last time I hug a co-worker.

I had NO idea it would be the last time I see my classroom for a long time.

I had NO idea that the day before was my last day seeing my kids.  MY kids.

I remember worrying that night about if they'd have enough food.

I remember worrying if they'd have enough heat.

I remember worrying if they'd have Wi-Fi.

I remember worrying about so many "What Ifs..."

For the past year, I've felt a bit lost.   A bit inadequate.   And here I am one year later wondering if I'm doing okay as a teacher.    COVID vs the Constructivist Teacher - this has been a challenge.

For the past year, I've been constantly doubting myself as an educator because COVID has REALLY cramped my style.   

I can't SIT with my students.  I can't share a pencil back and forth with them.   I can't even help them create a Blooms Ball or play a game of CompConnect.

I can't put my hand on theirs to let them know I am in fact listening.

I can't SEE their actual smiles.   

I teach from my shielded desk.   Ugh.    

I had to learn how to operate on a teenage sleep schedule last April.    I REFUSED to let COVID interfere with their learning and some nights I was teaching and zooming at 9pm until 1am while my biological children slept.    And while my students slept, I was teaching my own children.  

(For the record, 2nd grade math is jacked up.   Sweet Lord.)

COVID had and has taken away the ability to hug my students.   We've come up with some ridiculous gestures towards one another this year - but, let's be real here - there is power in a hug.

I've been trying my best, I know that.    

I can be my own worst enemy, I know that.

I am my own worst critic, I know that.

But COVID, in many ways, has broken my heart.   Shattered my heart.   And as I just let those tears flow, I thought of the man.   The man who believes this is closure.   The man who believes this injection is going to get us closer.

So I let each and every tear just fall without even wiping it away.

I let each tear come 24 hours later as I fought through the side effects.

So to my dear colleagues who I'm blessed to call friends and family, and to my dearest students... please know that I'm doing my best and I'm praying that we can sit right next to each other soon.

I love you.   I'm proud of you for each and every effort.    I may not be able to be right beside you, but please know, I am and always will be in your corner.