Well if I fooled any of you into believing that I'd acquired some computer skills since arriving in Korea, I suppose last week's post is proof that I haven't. I typed out my whole brilliant rant, hit save and my time ran out at the PC bong... and apparently it didn't save.
Last week's post was a reflection on life. The father of my favorite student, Ryan (my wolf in the play), was killed in a car accident two weeks ago. Onto the shoulders of one of the happiest kids I've ever met- is dumped a weight that he won't even understand for years to come. Ryan still asks me if I saw Shane (the teacher I replaced, who returned to Canada in October) the night before- because he can't comprehend either the distance between Canada and Korea, or the size and population of such big countries. In his five year old mind, I know all of Canada (although to his credit, many adults think the same way). It seems that whenever we experience the shock of someone passing, there were flags that we chose to ignore- or failed to really think about. The same week Ryan's father passed away, I yelled at the kids in his class for making fun of Ryan. All my millionaire kids were comparing what kind of cars their parents drove, and Ryan said his father didn't drive. Yet three days later, he won't return home to see his little boy who defended his dad's choice to take the subway. The day before it happened, one of the Korean teachers had had the kids draw a picture of their happiest day. It was nothing more than painful to see that picture in the morning after I'd been told what had happened. But these signs are always around someone's death. Is it coincidence- are they just day to day things that take on greater significance because of the loss? Or are they signs to prepare us for what's coming? Two weeks before my brother Tyler passed away, I had what would be the last talk I'd ever have with him. And all the things I needed to say, were said. How strange is that? That coincidentally, I told my brother that I missed him, and I loved him and I couldn't wait to see him at Christmas. And what did he want anyway? The only thing I didn't say was sorry- but I'm happy that I hit all the other points. But a few days later I called to talk to Travis, and I spoke to my dad. I hung up without talking to Tyler. And it drove me crazy all week- I had a nagging feeling that I should call and talk to Tyler. But, logic outweighed emotion and I didn't call. I thought I'd talk to him the following week end. But that was it, there was no next time. What am I trying to say? I'm not sure. The signs are there, but sometimes we choose not to see them. I had been having strange dreams before Tyler passed away, but I ignored them. I had a sick, uneasy feeling in my stomach for weeks before it happened. I knew, but I chose not to listen.
As adults, we often look around at people we know and wonder why they are the people they are... or at least I wonder. Why is she is angry? Why is he so immature? Why is he so old? And I think it's events like this that answer those questions. Ryan has returned to school, and after a few days of exhaustion, seems to be himself again. Although I've noticed that while Ryan was always a little older than the other kids, he's clinging to me a little more now than before. As though he realizes that they wouldn't understand what's happened in his life. As though he realizes that over the next few months, as his father's passing really sinks in, he knows that he'll mature years and years ahead of his friends. And that is why little Ryan will grow up to be one of those people that is older than their years. Maybe those we label as immature, are just people who saw the flags and listened. Maybe averting some of their pain, and thus missing out on some lessons that they were meant to learn. Why and how Ryan is suppose to learn those lessons at the age of five, I'm not entirely sure. But I guess that's what will usher him into adulthood years before he's due.
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