How did I get through?

I’ve been through many difficult times in my life; times you look back on and think, “How did I get through that?” Somehow you do. One day at a time. In the case of losing James, it was more like one hour at a time, moment by moment. I had some amazing people around me, and for that I am so grateful. My strong, close family went into ‘rapid response’ mode. Those first days and weeks they were with me round the clock, bringing drinks, treats, walks, anything that might bring me out of my profound inner sorrow. So, I made it through Christmas with my sisters, my brother and my nieces and nephews around me. I was dreading the return to work. As a teacher you cannot retreat inside yourself; nor can you show weakness around teenagers and expect to survive.

But I was underestimating several things;

1.      How absorbing teaching is.

2.      How supportive my colleagues would be.

3.      How well planned my middle sister was.

4.      My own inner strength and resilience.

Once you are in the classroom, 28 adolescents in front of you, expecting to learn, you just slot back into your teaching groove. You do what you were trained to do. You lean heavily on your routines and resources and you respond to the myriad questions that bounce your way each minute and before you know it, the bell has gone again, and you’ve ticked off one more lesson on your countdown to the weekend. As a teacher you have to be very, very present: teaching is essentially a powerful act of mindfulness.

The teachers in my department were incredible – those with families would invite me round for a meal, or even to stay over; single colleagues would come to my house or invite me to town; those living near a station were so helpful, realising it was urgent for me to get away to friends and family at weekends (challenging in a village and without a car).

But then there was Lois. Lois would start my day. Every day. She would call me in the morning, when she knew I needed to be getting up. She knew I would be fine once I got to my classroom, but there was no guarantee I would go in. More often than not, I was still in bed when she rang. Or at least still in my pyjamas. I would try to convince her I wasn’t going in. I couldn’t. It’s too hard. There’s no point. And every day, somehow – I’m not sure how – from 35 miles away, over the phone, she would get me dressed, out of my 18^th century rented front door and on the tree-lined path to school.

Every Friday my brother-in-law (Lois’ husband, Matthew) would leave his Birmingham office as early as he could, drive down the wintery country lanes, to take my sorry self to the safe haven that was their home. Their orange-haired two-year-old was an absolute tonic, with his innocent games, mischievous grin and endearing chatter. He was the one I could rely on not to look deeply into my eyes, to plumb the depths of my sadness.

Week by week I dug deeper and found the inner strength to face each day, drawing heavily on the belief of those around me, that ‘this too shall pass’, that I would come through this ordeal, that life would again be worth living, that I would smile again…one day even laugh?

And so, I made it to February half term. And then to Easter. In the new year, I received good news that gave me a positive new focus. I had been struggling to pay the rent on the only available small house in one of England’s most desirable chocolate box villages. So, I had made enquiries with an estate agent to see if there might be an alternative home? I mean, seriously, as if I would be able to invest in property in the Cotswolds on a salary of £13,500 after tax! But then the estate agent rang me with surprising news. [Had he heard of my plight?] A shared equity house had come onto the market and more than that, he had researched that I was eligible for a key worker loan to buy the house, because housing was so exorbitant, and I could not drive. It was like a little miracle – I struggled to take it in. But he was true to his word, helped me fill in the forms and by Easter (with my Mum paying the deposit from her widow’s pension and my brother-in-law getting me out of student debt by cutting up my credit cards and consolidating my loans), I got the keys. It was so exciting to have my own little place, I ignored multiple warnings about how many of my pupils lived on the same road.

The terraced house had not been left in good condition, but over the next two weeks Mum and I grafted until it hurt, to make that house habitable. My brother came to help paint. Some of my pupils surprised me by volunteering their decorating services; one even knew how to wallpaper! They were all so kind and each, in their own way, wanted to put me back together again. It’s fair to say that they succeeded…

…until it was time for the housewarming of #49, named, ‘Serendipity’…