Rehab and Reunion

Mike has been gone for over a week now.  Spending time in Florida with the Alexander kiddos, and likely won’t be back for another week.  The kids have been here the whole time, so I haven’t exactly been alone in this house, but that time is nearing.  They leave for their Dad’s soon, and I wonder what this next week will be like here.  I wonder how I’ll feel in the coming days.

We’ve never been separated for this long, except for rehab, but even then, I saw him and the kids on the weekends.  And I wasn’t exactly alone there, right?  I mean, let me just answer that question for you.  You have a roommate, most the hours of your day are scheduled, you eat communal meals with almost 100 people, and you are forced to be more social than most of us were ever prepared for, frankly.  Every minute of the day.

Imagine meeting an absolute stranger one day, and after four weeks rooming together, knowing intimate details of one another’s lives, their personal choice in hair conditioner, and even their bowel movement schedule.  Ha!  Yep, that’s distinctly how Dana and I became sisters.

We were lucky, frankly.  We had been thrown into a room together in detox for the first few days, and we requested to room together for the remainder of our time there in the dorm.  The counselors have strategies for choosing roommates, but we went with our gut on that one, and requested one another.  And I am eternally grateful.  Because we were surrounded by individuals who did NOT appreciate the person in the bed across the room.  There were plenty of situations where it seemed obvious that THAT relationship was hindering the success of the entire rehab experience.  How could it NOT?  We are distinctly affected by who we encounter for many hours of the day.  And we must decide how these communications affect our day.  How we speak to one another, what words we use, whether or not we welcome that person into our lives on a deeper level.

It’s good to be alone sometimes.  It’s taken me many years to finally appreciate this fact and use this time productively, but sometimes there can be too much of a good thing.  Yes?  Sometimes we pass our threshold for seclusion and slip into territory that takes longer to climb out of, when we don’t have the offering of someone’s hand to grasp.  That action is an agreement.  Sometimes we stretch out our own hand in hope.  And sometimes someone else offers that invitation.  We do this every time we talk with others.  You know, decide if we are going to have a surface level discussion, or dig deep.  It’s an unspoken agreement, really. Together, we decide if it’s a limp handshake or a mutually strong grasp, maybe even with both hands.

For the four weeks in rehab, I rose at ungodly hours, just so I could steal some moments alone outside, waiting for the wild creatures in the Texas Hill Country to stir in the darkness.  I’d brew my coffee, sit on the porch, and watch as deer, cats and squirrels made their presence known, calculating if they were getting more comfortable with my presence, as they ventured closer to my chair each passing day. 

It started out as the only place that I could go at that hour.  I mean, I loved and respected my roommate, so I wasn’t about to brew coffee and turn on lights in the room at 4:00 am.  We didn’t have our phones and there was no television in the room, so those weren’t options.  Yes, of course this setup is well-designed, but I always wondered why I was usually the only one out there.  Didn’t others need waking hours alone?  To think?  To notice?

I loved it so much, that THAT’S one of the practices that I took home with me.  Not recommended by any counselor, just a practice that was self-motivated and self-realized.  There were many other take-aways as well, but this time alone, seemed to be beneficial.  It didn’t take long to recognize its value, and I wondered if spending time in this way determined the success of my entire day, really.  If setting intention for the day, and starting in solitude, allowed my heart and brain time to breathe.  Because that’s what I did during this time, even after rehab.  I just thought.  And breathed. 

I did the same thing this very morning.

No TV.  No phone. No music.  Just me and my thoughts and rhythmic inhalation and exhalation.  And when you rise at 4:00 am, there’s time for quite a lot.  Time to be mindful of simple processes, really.  I didn’t add in writing during this time, until I was at least eight months into this practice.

For those weeks in rehab, Dana rose early some mornings, and didn’t even want to disturb me outside sometimes, wondering if her presence would intrude in some way.  I could see the light turn on in our room through the window, and she’d quietly open the window and whisper “good morning” to me.  And I would welcome her.  She was and always will be welcomed on my porch. She’d get dressed, bundle up in her coat, pour of cup of Joe, and join me in one of the Adirondack chairs on the porch.  We watched our visible breath and warmed our hands on our cups.  And we had wonderful chats.  Always.  Just entered our day with calm and insightful conversation.  No talks of what was scheduled for the day, or what had to be done at work, or whether we needed help getting a kid to baseball practice, or what was going on in the marriage of the neighbors.  Oh God, so refreshing.  Just cutting the bullshit and getting down to the nitty gritty of life, man. Screw limp handshakes, we went right into hug territory.

And this would happen throughout the day.  Because that’s what I intended.  I intended to cut the bullshit.  And I found that if I did so, others were often excited to do the same.  No, we didn’t all sit around and philosophize all the time, but there was a hell of a lot more of that in a day, then I had ever experienced.  And sharing.  Listening to others speak of joys and pains.  Who they missed.  What was a current struggle.  What breakthroughs were occurring. 

I guess I was pretty prepared for this.  That’s what Mike and I have always done.  We cut the bullshit and talk with no filter, because filters and editing are usually unnecessary.  Or hindering, to be more specific.  Hindering to real connection.  We only need editing to soften blows, really.  Or hide ourselves.  And if we use them at any other time, we’re likely not saying what really needs to be said.  Or what comes naturally. 

So, I find that when my partner for this kind of daily communication is gone, I am out of practice.  Those muscles become a little atrophied, and I must be mindful of them or they become forgotten as well. 

“Cut the bullshit.  Cut the bullshit.  Reach out a hand.  Accept a hand.”  Surface level investment gets old.

All are actions, right?  If we sit stagnant too long, we forget how important the DOING is.

So…yesterday, I saw my former students.  Surprise!!!  Hello students! 

Strangely enough, I was completely unprepared for the reunion.  Grace was nervous about her performance in a vocal competition late yesterday and wanted me to go with her.  Last year, she made this trip by herself.  Most high schools just take a bus with all of the students participating, with only their directors as chaperones.  But the school was close enough, so I took her myself, so I could be of support, even though I couldn’t enter the room as she sang her piece. 

This kind of presentation is not really her thing.  If it would have been up to her, she NEVER would have volunteered for such an opportunity.  But her voice teacher requires it, because Grace takes private lessons, so she tried to put her massive fears aside, and just get it done.  Three and a half minutes of singing for a single judge, who has a hard copy of the solo and a sheet to write comments.  Oh…and that’s absolutely terrifying to her.  Singing a solo and watching someone with their head down, scribbling comments that you KNOW you’ll have to read the next day.  How can you EVER be in that moment appropriately, when you are afraid of what they’re thinking?  Of what they are writing. 

As a teacher and a mother, I realize that this experience is one of growth, but I also consider it one where it is nearly impossible to connect to anything other than your own self-doubt and nerves.  I didn’t feed her some bullshit about connecting to the music and the judge, because that wouldn’t have been what I actually think about this particular musical experience.  It was merely important that she be well-prepared, get through her nerves, and offer her best.  Yep.  That’s it.  And in those simple actions, I was immensely proud.  I do not give a shit what her score is.  I give a few shits about the comments, but mainly just because I know that she will hang on each word written.

So, when we arrived at the school, it didn’t take long for me to notice that my former high school students were there as well.  I encountered a few of them while searching for Grace’s judging room, gave them hugs and told them that I would come to the cafeteria to see them after Grace was finished.  It’s been a year since I’ve seen them, and it was surprising for us all, but I didn’t want the moment to take focus away from my daughter.  I needed to be there for her.

There were a few tears before she entered the room.  I had to realize that the experience was unbelievably challenging for her.  She is NOT me.  That is NOT her forte.  And I have never tried to force aspirations or musical situations upon her.  She does not want to, and has NEVER wanted to make singing or music her life, so she was there to get shit done, man.  Endure a requirement, hopefully feel successful, and then go eat homemade pasta with her mom.  That’s really it!

I listened from outside the room, willing her strength, and saw that she was even beginning to cry as she walked to the door after finishing her piece.  And I hoped that the judge knew just how much work she had put in.  And that her vulnerability in that moment was something of a personal success for her.  If anyone ever thinks that singing for others should be easy…please know that using an instrument that God has given you, is one of the most personally revealing things you can do.  You are bearing your soul, even if you are singing in another language…because there is no filter for the soul of self when singing.  There is no editing what your soul is speaking in those moments.  And THAT’S why some people are comfortable doing it, and some are not. 

It has nothing to do with the instrument itself.  It has to do with a person’s willingness to be naked up there.  And better yet…confident and naked!  For a teenager!

After she finished, I said that we could just leave.  That we didn’t have to go see my students, if she wasn’t up to it.  But she wanted to.  Or maybe she knew that I wanted to.

So, we went.  I walked into the cafeteria to a hoard of my former students who haven’t seen or heard from me in over a year.  To students that heard that I left abruptly…for “health reasons.”  And no other information.

They had no idea what I was about to say.

There were hugs.  Tears.  More hugs.  More tears.

We sat at one of those cafeteria tables that have been the mainstay in educational settings since well before “my time.”  You know, just little stools sprouting from a long table that folds up and rolls across the room when the school needs the space for other gatherings.  I didn’t want to stand and present the information that I was about to impart.  I wanted to sit as one of them.  As just a chick who was so happy to see them, hear them, and share what has been going on in all of our lives.  So I sat, while some of them sat, and some stood over us to hear it all.

I didn’t edit.  I didn’t filter.  I reached out my hand, cut the bullshit and told them everything.  No, I didn’t cry during this exchange. I was not looking for sympathy, nor should they give me any. I was hoping for understanding and reunion. So, I looked them in the eyes and simply connected. And I offered this.

How sorry I was for leaving under a shroud of mystery.  For abandoning them in some way. 

That I had been in a very bad place.  Struggling with alcohol abuse.  That shame kept me from revealing why I left. 

One of my more vocal former students first asked the rehab question.  Oh man, she’s so great.  Admittedly bipolar and practically incapable of not saying what’s on her mind.  And I answered willingly and honestly.  Yep, I figure I may have been the first adult and influential person in their lives to admit something like this. 

It was a wonderful conversation.  It was real and vulnerable and evidence of the relationship that was actively nourished by all parties for several years.  I even taught a few of them in middle school, so I had more than just a couple of high school years with some. 

It’s possible that they could start reading this.  Yes, I told them that I write.  And that I’m trying to be an advocate for recovery, honesty and growth. 

I’ll be at their next concert.  I’ve been wanting to see them and hear them, ever since I left the school. To be supportive to those young friends who I spent many of my waking hours with over a year ago. But honestly, I didn’t want to cause a scene at any concert.  I didn’t want to take any focus in that setting.  That wouldn’t have been fair to their current teachers or to them. 

While I didn’t plan out what I said, I DID anticipate that reunion for months.  I DID wonder about how to handle it and if my handling it, would be acceptable to them.  To their current teachers.  To their parents.  Even to administrators, although no one really has a say in the matter, except for me.

I hope I did well.  I know that what I said felt right. 

I just had to cut the bullshit.  Welcome them onto the porch for awhile and get down to the nitty gritty of life.

Their lives are full of such promise, such opportunity, such vulnerability.  And I am thankful that I had several years as their teacher.  And friend. 

I hope that they know that I haven’t left them.  And that I haven’t left teaching.  It may not be in the public school setting right now, but it is most definitely public.  If they meet me here, it’s just an unfiltered chat on the porch of the school of life. And Mrs. A may drop the “f bomb” in class some days.

Most mornings, it may take you about three and a half minutes to read what I write.  Yeah, it comes pretty naturally now, so I don’t leave the room in tears anymore.  And it’s getting easier to stand here naked and present my song.

Cut out the bullshit in your words and in your lives, ya’ll.  Just get down to the nitty gritty of life, and make those invitations into these conversations.  It’s all about rehab and reunion.