I knew my colleagues would continue to be supportive of me as they had been since the beginning. I also knew I had the support of my principal. I wasn't as sure about how the students would take all of this, but they were great. My friend who had taken on most of the responsibility for my class as the substitute teacher during my absence told me that most of them had been on their best behavior the entire time. I appreciated that so much. Many of my colleagues told me that if I ever needed to take a break during the day, if things got to be too much for me, to just let them know. I got through those first two days, somehow, and felt OK. I felt a few pangs of guilt about it. How could I even think about such mundane matters as work when my son was gone forever? Wasn't that in some way devaluing Curtis's life? We'd already started hearing about other people who had lost their child in the past who had gone into shells, some never coming out. Was I a bad father to be able to go back to work so soon?
I wasn't sure myself, but I knew Curtis had loved his life and would not want me to wallow in my loss forever. He would want me to find ways to go on. I knew that had to be what happened now. I could not leave my wife and surviving children to endure this horror alone. My life as a teacher had always been a large part of my identity, and now it would play a large role in my finding my way out of this situation I never dreamed I would be in. I did wonder, though, if I would ever again be the kind of teacher I had been before. Everything else in my life had been turned upside down. How could this part of my life be any different? It was, however, somewhat comforting to get back to some kind of "normal" schedule. With the ongoing visits to the courtroom, counseling sessions, moment by moment issues that continued to come up virtually everyday, life continued to be a challenge. There were good days and bad days. One of my most frustrating moments came when I was conferencing with a parent a few weeks after going back to work. It turned out to be what led to the introductory title to my first blog entry. By this time I had begun to be more forgiving of people when they made insensitive, ignorant comments. I realized that most people meant well, but they simply could not understand what we were going through, nor is it something parents even want to try to comprehend. It's just too horrible to even think about. I get that. People had sometimes made us feel like we had some kind of contagious disease; that if they stayed too close to us what had happened to us could happen to them. I realized that we were a constant affirmation to people of just that fact: if such a terrible tragedy could happen to a family like ours, it could happen to anyone. We'd already noticed some people we thought had been our friends had dropped by the wayside, either through their wishes or ours. We simply did not have enough energy to deal with people who could not be fully supportive of us during this difficult time, be they family, friend, neighbor, acquaintance, etc. I knew that this parent meant well, and was trying to be compassionate, but it didn't come off that way. She said that her family had all been praying for us (which I appreciated), but went on to say that I must be doing well and had gotten over everything by now since I was back at school. I, gave her a weak smile, thanked her for her concern, and went on to finish the conference. I had already learned that it usually wasn't worth my time or energy to try to correct someone's misperception about our situation. Most people simply could not, or would not, be able to understand. However, I wanted to scream at this woman! What was she talking about? This was not my goldfish that had died! This was my, precious, beloved, one and only, uniquely talented son. A son who I would never again be able to hug, kiss, talk to, go to ballgames with, watch play sports, take fishing, hear laugh, argue with, or give guidance to. A son who would never go to a high school dance, never graduate, never go to college, never get married or have a family of his own. How could anyone possibly think that I would ever get over something like that, let alone in only a few weeks? I was already beginning to understand that I would be spending the rest of my life learning how to live through, not get over, this horrible truth: I would never see my son again in this world.
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