Number 61

Autumn in New England (part IV)

Believe it or not! I'm not in a coffee shop right now. I'm actually in the waiting room waiting to see my therapist. Had the parking lot of the Caribou coffee shop down the street not been under construction, I would have been there, so I suppose, in that way, the coffee shop angle still holds. Anyway, In my last entry I promised I would finish telling you all about my trip. I believe I was on my way to Maine.

Thus far I have not mentioned anything about the scenery during my trip. In short, it was spectacular. When I planned this trip, I just looked at my calendar and found a time when I had two weeks free. It didn't occur to me that I would be driving through New England during prime 'leaf peeping' time. Mother Nature did not disappoint this year. I witnessed more shades of yellow, orange, and red than Crayola has crayons. There were so many 'happy trees' that I felt like I was driving through a Bob Ross painting. (That's a good thing).

On the afternoon of Friday, October 11, for the first time, I finally entered the Brewer Community School.  The significance of this occasion needs a little back story. Rebecca, the girls, and I lived in the Bangor-Brewer area for 13 years before moving to Mankato, Minnesota in the summer of 2010. Grace was born there in 2000. (May 25th, to be exact.) We were happy there, and if circumstances hadn't changed so abruptly, we'd probably still be there. Briefly, In February of 2010, Rebecca was informed by hospital management that her position was being eliminated. (That they had the temerity to then come and ask her "just exactly what do you do anyway?" is an issue for another blog entry.) They offered her some other job for about a third of her salary, coupled with a complete loss of face. She felt she needed to look elsewhere. I understood this and supported her as she began to cast her net nationally. Eventually, she found the job that brought us all to Mankato.

Now, back to the Brewer Community School and why it took me so long to go inside. You see, by supporting Rebecca's search for a new job, I had also made the decision to resign from the best job I ever had. I was teaching a grade I loved (fourth), with colleagues and a principal that I loved working with. It had taken me a while to get to that point - struggling to get a teaching position, teaching kindergarten longer than I should have for a waste of an administrator - and letting go of all that hurt a great deal. The cherry on top of the whole sh-bang was that our district had been constructing a brand new school building and it was set to open that fall. If you're not a teacher yourself, you may not understand how exciting a new building is. Especially when you've been in a school building that was last state-of-the-art during the Roosevelt administration - Teddy's. So back in the spring of 2010, when all my colleagues were getting sneak peaks at the new building, I stayed away. Going to visit a building I would never get to teach in was just too painful.

As I was walking the halls that Friday, however, I finally realized that I had made peace with this part of my past. I was much more excited to visit with old friends than I was to lament something that never was. It was a wonderful visit with some of my all time favorite people. It was full of laughter over good memories, and a few curse words over some of the more exasperating ones. It was also full of acceptance for the person I had become during our time apart from one another. This is a gift that never fails to make my heart sing.

The next day, Saturday, was the same, but different. During our Bangor time, the Hammond Street Congregational Church had been a central part of our life. Rebecca and I both sang in the choir, served on a variety of committees, and volunteered our time in different ways. Many of our close friends in Bangor were folks from Hammond Street. That evening a number of us gathered together to once again re-establish old relationships, tell stories, and share laughter and tears. The next day, at Sunday morning worship, I was able to do that with another score of people. By the time I left, I felt as if I were walking on a cloud. The cumulative effect of all the wonderful visiting left me feeling lighter than air.

Before I left Bangor, I took the time to leave Rebecca's ashes in a few different places. The church that had been such a big part of our lives, the hospital where she worked and touched so many lives (I also offered my own 'one finger salute' to the dumb ass hospital administrators who had behaved so stupidly 10 years ago), and a park we liked to visit. In each place, I spoke aloud to her, remembering the importance of each place. And, as I did everywhere else, I ended with "I love you."

I drove home through Canada. It's more direct and I got to avoid Chicago. It's also fun to set the speedometer to 120 - even if it is kilometers/hour. It took me 2 1/2 days to make it back to Mankato. I arrived home on Tuesday night, October 15th. Two weeks since I had left.

Writer's are taught to write a good conclusion when they get to the end of whatever they're writing. Which I am. At the end, I mean. I actually don't know what more I can say to sum up my trip. I could try to use some 10 cent adjectives and adverbs to communicate just how much this trip meant to me. But if you've been reading along as I publish each entry, you already know that (I hope). If you can imagine how my two dogs greeted me on my arrival home, you'll have a good idea of the way my soul was soaring after a trip that accomplished what I had hoped for and then so much, much more.