What Happened Next - The School

On Tuesday I went back to the school to get my stuff.

My mom drove. We went to my apartment first so I could gather the books that belonged to the school or that had been loaned to me by other teachers, so I could return them. There were enough to fit in one small box, and I clung to it like a teddy bear.

I was so scared to go back to the school. Part of that fear was the shame I felt, wondering how I could show my face in that place again when I'd ditched them for something as meaningless as "I was having a hard time." Whether that shame was fair or not doesn't matter; I felt it.

But I was far more afraid because I knew that walking back into the school meant I would see students and friends, and that I would have to say goodbye. I feel goodbyes; I feel them down in my core, each one molding me like a transformation that can never be undone. Some goodbyes are less significant than others, of course, but with these people . . . I wasn't sure my fragile heart could take it.

We parked in the school's lot at 3:15, just about ten minutes after school got out - so, as expected, there was a crowd of teenagers spilling over the lawn and the stairs to the front door. They were waiting for the bus or for a ride, gathered in clusters and talking, joking, complaining, being together. My heart wobbled when I saw them. There would be no sneaking past these people. I knew it wouldn't have been right anyway, but I thought it sure would have been easier. I grabbed my box, took a deep breath, and started walking toward the school (Mom trailing behind me).

It started almost at once.

"Miss Grosland!" someone shouted. "Miss Grosland!" The mass of students suddenly became one group, looking around bewildered, their faces lighting up in surprise when they saw me making my way toward the steps. They smiled widely. They were excited. "Miss Grosland!"

It was the most incredible feeling in the world.

They weren't all my students, but many were. Their names ran through my head as I caught glimpses of them, some of them pushing forward to see me. I loved them so much. Just seeing them made me so happy I could barely breathe.

"Miss Grosland," one girl asked excitedly as I approached, "Are you coming back?"

A knife in my heart. This was why I hadn't wanted to come. The well of sorrow within me shook with waves, but something unexpected happened:

My teacher face came on. My teacher self came on. What I felt inside didn't matter. What mattered was giving these students what they needed, and they didn't need to worry about me. I had only been there a few weeks, but I had made an effort to show them - through myself - that learning and working hard was exciting, that it made your life better, and that there was always a positive spin to things. If this was the last time I was going to get to interact with my students, I was going to make sure they remembered me as a source of optimism and light. Because I knew they needed that.

I kept my tone lighthearted. "Nope," I said. "I'm just here to get my stuff."

"What?" An uproar of disappointment.

I pouted sympathetically, "I know, I know," I said. "I'm sad, too."

"Miss Grosland," a new girl came rushing from around a cluster of people. "Where ya been?"

 "I went to the hospital," I said, matter-of-factly, still walking up the steps.

"Wait - really?" one boy asked.

"Yeah," I said, raising my eyebrows like it was cool.

His goofy face shaded slightly with concern. "What was wrong with you?" he asked.

"Not tellin'," I said, feigning snottiness as I turned haughtily away. More outcry.

"Miss G, we miss you," someone whined. Shouts of agreement followed. "Yeah!" "We miss you!"

I turned back, smiling sadly. "I miss you guys, too," I said honestly. My heart was swelling uncomfortably in my chest.

"So when are ya coming back?" someone asked again.

By now I was standing at the top of the stairs, the front of the crowd. Everyone was turned toward me, listening, watching. So I allowed a teeny bit of the sorrow I felt to show on my face, and I let them see the sincerity in my eyes. When I spoke, in that hush, it felt so final. "I'm not," I said.

Murmuring. "But why not?" a girl argued.

"My doctors said I couldn't." It was the best way I could think to explain. "I went to the hospital, and the doctors told me I couldn't come back." I kept stepping towards the door; more words would not make this better. A long goodbye would only make it worse, when I had so little I could offer in the way of explanation. "It was good to see you all, though," I added, in a pitiful attempt to tell them how precious they were to me. They murmured back answering sentiments, still looking like they didn't understand.

I couldn't help them with that. I still don't understand.

As I pulled the door open and started to slide inside, a boy called after me in a mock-baby-crying voice. "But I'm gonna miss you so much, Miss Grosland," he said.

I answered in the same teasing tone, "Oh, I'm gonna miss you, too, L----." We both laughed.

The door closed between us and I kept walking, heading upstairs to my room. But I had to stop a short ways in because my Mom was already a wreck, crying her eyes out. I knew she was crying for me. She looked up at me with red eyes and a smile of support. My professionalism slipped; my breath hitched in my throat. So I turned around and kept moving.


*                                    *                                     *

In the end, it didn't take that long. When we got to my room I was greeted by Nic - one of the other new teachers from a different campus, whom I'd become friends with at all those district training meetings we'd had to attend. It turned out they'd put him in charge of my classroom until they could find a permanent replacement - what a gift to me, to know it wasn't just some stranger. I was happy to see him, and more than a little surprised when he hugged me - this man who had told me once that nothing got to him - and asked tenderly if I was okay because, in his words, "You're breaking my heart a little bit."

Kerry - my friend the math teacher, who has apparently forgiven me for stealing her room at the beginning of the year - came to find me, too. She made a joke about being the reason I was quitting; hugged me; told me she'd miss me, but hoped I'd get better and do great "out there."

Kathy - dear Kathy - was the one who really made me cry. I gave back the books she'd offered me and thanked her for doing so much to help me those few weeks. She'd been my champion, and it meant a lot to me. We spoke a bit about students, about materials and where everything was supposed to go. But then I suddenly realized that I was standing there, looking at my best friend smiling sadly back at me, and that I might never see her again. So I choked out a sob and grabbed her, hugging her and crying into her shoulder until we were both a mess of grief.

I packed up all my books. I had brought such little else - a photo album, my desk toys, a BYU flag, my pith helmet. I grabbed my guitar from the closet and then tried to figure out how my mom and I were going to carry it all to the car.

I needn't have worried.

Both Nic and Kathy loaded up on boxes, following me and Mom to the car and packing it all away. Almost all of the students were gone. There was just one box left upstairs. Mom offered to go get it, but I wanted it to be mine.

My little entourage followed me, but I felt like the only person in the world as I walked up the stairs - glancing at the familiar, typo-ridden decorations. I turned and walked down the hall, trying to memorize the way my little door looked in the corner. I used the drinking fountain one last time. I walked into my room, grabbed the box, and just looked around, drinking in my last glimpse of a room that, in many ways, had been my home.

And then I walked out, and what had been my classroom vanished like smoke.


*                                    *                                     *


I stopped by the office on my way out. I even went and checked my little teacher mail box, even though there was nothing there I needed to keep. I ran into Rhonda - the Instructional Coach - which was good because I got to hug her and tell her how terrific she'd been in supporting me. She was sweet and kind, and told me I'd been great. Then she left.

I turned my keys in to Debbie, the wonderful secretary, the first person I ever met at GWHS. We had a good laugh about the whistle on my key chain - how I'd used it to get rescued that time I got locked in the bathroom. I told her thanks for everything, and that I'd loved my time there and wished I could have stayed. She understood and said they all wished I could have stayed, too. And she agreed to invite me to graduation in May.

My principal - Benji - was in a meeting. I was afraid to face him, even though he was one of the most honorable and admirable men I'd ever met. I dreaded the thought that maybe he regretted hiring me, that maybe he was disappointed and frustrated at having to hire someone to replace me. But I knew he'd be insulted and hurt if I snuck out of the building without saying goodbye. So I knocked on his office door and waved through the window.

He came out immediately.

He was not weepy or sentimental, but he wasn't angry either. He just looked very serious. But he immediately pulled me into an embrace, holding me tightly, like he wanted to take all of his strength and give it to me. Like all he wanted was to protect me.

I cried. Just a little.

When he pulled back, he kept his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eyes. "You got everything?" he asked.

"Yeah," I sniffed.

"I'm serious about what I said," he told me. "You can - and should - use me as a reference, wherever you go from here. I'll be delighted to tell them all the great things about you."

My lip quivered as I nodded. "You were terrific," I said, the words bursting out of me. "Really, you have been amazing, and I'm so grateful I got to work with you." I was starting to lose it.

"You're gonna be okay," he promised, never breaking eye contact with me. Looking at him, I believe it. I trusted him completely.

The music was playing in my head. I could feel the curtain falling. It was almost over.

Benji knew it, too. He let go of me with a supportive nod, and I took a step back. But I still had one more line, one thing left to say.

"Take care of my kids for me," I asked him, my voice splashing as I met his eyes.

He nodded. He understood. And I knew he would do it.

So I left.


*                                    *                                     *


One more student caught me on the way out. A boy from my music class; a boy with braces who liked to talk to his friends in the middle of whatever I was teaching. A boy who had come to Back to School Night cowering behind parents who thought he was worthless. A boy I had rigorously defended and praised and loved.

"Miss Grosland!" he said, surprised and delighted. He had a basketball under his arm, on his way to after school gym. "Why haven't you been in school?" he asked.

My tears were gone, my optimistic teacher self back in action before I could even consciously reach for it. I smiled at him. "I decided to go to the hospital instead," I told him, holding out my arm so he could see the large purple bruise my IV needle had left behind.

"Oh," he said, blinking. "Well . . . that's fun."

I grinned. "I thought so."

He grinned back. "So, are you coming back?"

Another gash. I simply shook my head this time, the sadness starting to choke me.

I saw disappointment and hurt in his eyes - he needed me; I knew he needed me; and I was leaving anyway - and I wondered how my heart could possibly survive this much pain.

"Why not?" he asked.

"My doctors," I said. "They said I had to move back to Springville, so I can be closer, so they can keep an eye on me."

"Oh." He looked down.

"I'm really glad I got to see you before I left, though," I offered.

He nodded. "Yeah. You, too." He turned to go into the gym.

I could not bear to leave him.

"Hey!" I shouted after him.

He turned back.

"I'm gonna be coming to graduation for the next few years, still," I said, smiling. "So, you know, I'll be seeing you again."

He smiled, genuinely. "Yeah," he said. "See you." And then he turned and dribbled away.

And I took my last box of stuff and walked out the doors of George Washington High School.

Mom had been bawling on-and-off since we'd arrived, and it was nice to know she could feel my pain even when I was masking it for everyone else. I was able to stay calm and professional all the way to the car, leaving the school with my head held high. I put the box in the trunk. I got into the passenger seat. I closed the door.

And then, finally, I allowed myself to weep.

Tears poured from my eyes in a steady river of grief. Mom leaned over to hold me while I mourned. After a moment, I was suddenly worried that a student might walk past and see me, so I asked Mom to drive somewhere, anywhere but here. When the goodbyes were over, it was time to go.

We drove up the canyon, where the beauty of the cliffs, the streams, the iridescent trees, and the lake soothed me. God had made this for me. And I loved it. It was the loving arms of someone comforting you at a funeral; it didn't change what you had lost, but it was nice to remember what you still had.

We drove for a long, long time.

I'm not sure I'll ever be done crying.