It’s 8:30 pm on Tuesday, July 16, the end of my summer vacation, and I’m checking my email to plan for work the following day.
“Dear Kris,” the email begins, and I already know. The board “has voted to eliminate,” and I start to sweat. It continues, “…from our staffing plan in 2019-2020 as part of a plan to reallocate funding from administrative to instructional positions,” and I’m screaming, and I mean screaming, for my wife who is upstairs reading.
My first thought is for my son who attends the school. I know, in an instant, that I will not be able to hand him his diploma the following June. I’d been musing about it in the days since the school’s last graduation ceremony. Would he reach out first for that on-the-stage hug?
A year and a half ago, I had a job I loved, working with devoted educators and the most amazing of students. No longer. It took the school months to plan for the email. It took me 30 seconds to read.
This is what is called, “a major life trauma.” The details of life between then and now? It’s time to share my story because it may resonate with you.
Join me. Loss and trauma are intrinsic to the human condition. So, too, is wonder.
I invite you into the conversation. Write to me with a proposal for a guest blog. Let’s start with “The coming of the light.”
May you be warm.