I Can't Delete Their Labels

As a family, we send Christmas cards every year. We use the same Excel spreadsheet used for our wedding, more than nineteen years ago. Over the years, many of the addresses have changed. and it's easy to update. Once the addresses are updated, we use the mail merge function in Word to create labels that go on the cards, with a stamp and they're off to our family and friends. 

While more than a few have changed addresses in the years that we've been married, sadly several have passed away. Unfortunately, as the years of our marriage have increased, so have the number of loved ones who are no longer with us. My maternal grandmother, my uncle, My Wife's great uncle, just to name a few. 

And I can't bring myself to delete their labels. I don't delete their information in the spreadsheet. I don't delete their names in the draft I review in Word. I let the full list go to the printer. I see their names and addresses, as familiar to me as my own. And while I don't actually put their labels on one of our cards, I can't delete them either. 

I wish I knew when it would be the last year I would use their labels. Unfortunately, we don't get that kind of foresight. I wish I knew when would be the last time I celebrated a birthday or a holiday with them. We don't get that either. I wish I knew the final opportunity to talk to them. Nope, not even close. 

I feel incredibly fortunate that I've only had a very small handful of experiences with someone close to me as they were dying. Given that it's a small sample size, please take what I share with a grain of salt. The lessons I took away were consistent, and they were all about family. Not one person said, "I wish I had spent more time in the office" or "I wish I would have worked harder." Every sentiment I heard was about spending more time with loved ones or regretting choices that took them away from their family. 

We're approaching the Winter Holiday Break in East Greenwich Public Schools, and candidly we are stumbling toward that final day. We've suffered heart-breaking losses and families that we know will be celebrating with one less person at their table this year than they expected. We're feeling the age of our high school building, while we prepare for a Master Plan that will breathe new life into our elementary schools AND will address some of the inadequacies at EGHS. 

I feel the sadness. I feel the frustrations. I feel the worry. 

Please know we've got this. We've already applied for emergency funding from RIDE to repair the heating system at the high school. We will meet the February 15 RIDE deadline for submitting our Stage II for the Master Plan. By doing so, we ensure that we remain eligible for the additional 20% reimbursement from the state and bring our total from 35% to 55%. Our Facilities Team will remain vigilant to the needs of all our buildings, including the high school, to make sure we do everything in our power to keep them open for teaching and learning. 

And, we will patiently meet the needs of our students and adults who are in pain and missing those who have passed away. Whether that is this week, next week, next month or in six months. Grief is not predictable and we will be here when those waves of emotion rise and fall. We will extend empathy, compassion and love to those who are grieving. 

We'll never delete their labels, their memories are safe with us. 

Photo courtesy of The Today Show

When It's Too Much

We've endured several deaths in the EGPS Family since the middle of November. The Zimmer family has a sibling at Cole. Dr. Michelle Casey, a special educator at Cole, lost her husband, Ryan. Our Director of Technology, Dr. Steven Arnoff, passed away the day after Thanksgiving. And last Friday, Bob Houghtaling died after a brief illness. 

That is a lot for a small, tight-knit community like East Greenwich to handle in less than a month's time. Even one person passing away would be a lot. This is four in less than four weeks. It feels like a lot, and I've only been a part of this community for eighteen months. 

I ache for the Zimmer family losing a child. I am stunned that Michelle Casey will raise her family without her husband. I miss my thought partner, Dr. Arnoff. We scrambled this weekend in the wake of Bob's death because he was who we would turn to in a moment like his passing. 

For me, it feels like too much. It's OK to say it feels like too much if it feels like too much. It's not an either-or situation. It's both-and. I saw this post by Jimmy Casas (@casas_jimmy), and it really resonated: 

Photo courtesy of Jimmy Casas

I wrote earlier this month about how we need to be especially kind to each other during this holiday season. While we know the four families that have lost loved ones are certainly hurting, we don't know who else is. There are no signs around our necks warning others that we're grieving or in pain. 

We don't have a diagram of the tapestry of ways that Owen Zimmer touched the hearts of those in his world. I can only imagine how many people are still feeling the reverberations of Ryan Casey's death, simply based on how many were in Our Lady of Mercy on Monday, November 27, at 10:00. Dr. Arnoff's thankless leadership ensured that our technology was ready when we were. Bob worked with a myriad of young people and their families, talking about things that, at times, were open secrets and topics that were known only to him and the young person he was working with. 

And we know that each death picks at the scab of the previous one we were healing from. 

East Greenwich is hurting. I think that's fair to say. Let's recommit to each other's humanity and recognize that for the foreseeable future, we need to be better to each other. We need to give the benefit of the doubt. We need to give each other grace. We need to find it in our hearts to be kind. 

If only that others will give it back to us. It is too much. 

One Week, Two Funerals, Three Days Without High School Classes

I drove back from Sharon Memorial Park last Thursday, November 30, lost in thought. Growing up just outside New York City, I've been to many Jewish rituals but never to a funeral. One of the mitzvahs in the ceremony happens during the burial. Each mourner has the opportunity to put three shovelfuls of dirt on top of the coffin after it has been lowered into the ground. The first is done with the shovel upside down. I asked a dear Jewish friend about that. She told me: "The shovel is held so that the back of the shovel faces upward to show that it's being used for a purpose that's the opposite of life. And that it also takes time, showing our reluctance to bury a loved one. This tradition of having family and friends fill the grave also ensures that the deceased is not buried by strangers." This is how we said goodbye to Dr. Steven Arnoff, Director of Technology in East Greenwich Public Schools. 

I could not stay lost in thought for long because my phone, previously on Do Not Disturb for the funeral, came alive with all the notifications from e-mail and text messages. Thursday was the second full day we could not have staff or students in the high school due to a leak in our boiler system, which meant there was not enough heat in the building. I drove straight to the high school to meet with the High School Principal, Dr. Patricia Page, and our Director of Facilities, Robert Wilmarth. There was some optimism in our conversation - the crew had been able to visualize and isolate the problem and was hopeful that we would feel the heat coming on and holding throughout the building in a few hours. We then walked every classroom space together, and I stood by as the high school leadership team made a plan for the rooms impacted by the ongoing repairs to be relocated elsewhere. Once that was in place, the safety evacuation plan was updated to reflect these new circumstances. Shortly before 5:00 that evening, Dr. Page sent a message sharing the good news with the high school community. Ninety minutes later, I sent a follow-up to our entire EGPS community and various media outlets. 

All of Wednesday was spent collaborating on alternative plans to accommodate almost 900 humans (students and adults) who spend their days at the high school, teaching and learning. We do not have approval for remote learning from the Rhode Island Department of Education. We chose not to apply for that collaboratively with our Teachers' Association after reviewing the requirements for remote learning. We know there is an emergency approval process should we face another circumstance like the one we saw at the high school. 

While we were planning for alternative ways to guarantee teaching and learning would continue somehow, Mr. Wilmarth and his team spent Tuesday afternoon, all of Wednesday, and most of the day on Thursday trying to find the source of the leak. Since I have zero expertise in this area, I stayed out of the way and only communicated with Mr. Wilmarth via text and phone calls. The last thing a professional needs is a neophyte interrupting the process. Until I was invited, all I offered Mr. Wilmarth and his team was space and resources. 

When I did get a chance to recap in person with Mr. Wilmarth and his team, after bringing me up to speed on the latest, he could not say enough about the collaboration between the Town of East Greenwich. He said, "Every time we called this week, the answer was 'Yes!' If they had a maybe, it turned into a yes, or it was an alternative to what we were asking for." I am so grateful for these concrete actions that supported and helped solve the problem at the high school. We could not have welcomed all the humans back to EGHS on Friday without their help. We are better together!

As I drove home on Friday afternoon, I thought about where my week started. It started in a pew at Our Lady of Mercy. Ryan Casey, the husband of Dr. Michelle Casey, a special educator at Cole Middle School, and the dad of Kathleen, William, Grace, Riley, and Caroline, passed away in November. I cannot comprehend the deep sense of loss that the Casey family, friends, and family must be feeling during this time. Still, something that Fr. Bernard Healey said during his homily stuck with me, and I reflected on it as I made my way back to my family. Fr. Healey mentioned that when we start a sentence with "if only," we're looking back. Even in death, there is hope, albeit challenging, in the Catholic faith of reuniting in everlasting life. Hope was a central theme during Dr. Arnoff's funeral as well. While there was not a lot of hope at the high school on Tuesday and Wednesday, we found it through the collective effort to restore heat to our building. 

I am not in any way comparing the hope of opening a high school after two days of no heat to the hope of reuniting with loved ones who have passed away. The depth of sadness that the Arnoff and the Casey families, as well as their friends and loved ones, feel is nothing compared to two days of no school for our high school staff and students. And, to not look back, in the words of Fr. Healey, we have to have hope. 

Education is an act of hope. The very nature of what we do is hopeful. We plant seeds that we may never, ever see blossom. Educators face countless moments every day, in every classroom, in which we interact in the lives of the learners in our buildings. In the lives of our colleagues. In the lives of the families of our learners. Every interaction is an act of hope. Hope for the future. Hope for better. Hope for growth. Hope for reconciliation. Hope for greater understanding. Hope for humanity. 

Last week was a long week. And I have hope that this one will be better. 

Photo courtesy of www.edutopia.org