Dollar

Friday was one of the hardest days of my young life. I went to the school where I worked for my student's visitation. They didn't have his body or anything, just a table full of his things - a baseball cap, his senior pictures, art projects he had done. There were about fifty kids there half an hour before the service started, and they were all in Alabama garb since that was his favorite team. Pictures of him growing up were scrolling on the projector screen with those moving songs that are reserved specifically for funerals and memorial services. It was simple, sweet, and a great way to remember him.

I went with my cooperating teacher, which made it easier because she knew him. She knows what it's like to see his empty desk and know he's not just coming in late. It was really nice to talk to her, too: she knew more information about his accident, and it was really good to talk to somebody who "gets it".

After I left the ceremony I came home to get changed out of my dress and went straight up to Cedarville. As I drove home, all I could think was, "I need to be with my sister." I craved distraction, something to smile at. Plus I haven't been out with people in months, and, though I don't miss many things about Cedarville, I do miss always having people to hang out with. We went to our friend's house downtown and watched "Friends" until we went to grab some pizza. It was simple, but it was so good to be out again.

My cooperating teacher said I grew up a little on Friday, but in my quest to figure out what makes a "grown-up" I never considered that as a factor - having your heart calloused by death, loss, grief. I hope I don't have many more growing-up sessions like this but I've sure I will. I'm sure there will be many more nights where I hold it together until I close the door to my room and cry into my pillow, many more afternoons when I lay on the couch and keep a straight face while I bleed my grief on a page where no one else will see. I'm sure I'll lie when I say "I'm fine" so I don't have to talk about it.

I don't want to, but I"m sure it'll be there.