Last week I had the honor of volunteering in two Washington, DC, schools. I accompanied a grief and trauma counselor from the Wendt Center for Loss and Healing – an extraordinary organization dedicated to providing support services for people grappling with all sorts of loss and trauma in their lives – and helped her facilitate four support groups over the course of a day.
The lesson of the day was triggers. It was an opportunity for the students to think about what triggers their memories of the person they’ve lost, or any of the scary and bad things that have happened to them in their short lives. We started in Stanton Elementary School, which has long considered to be one of DC’s troubled schools in every way. Today, however, it is a “turn-around” school, and with a newly renovated building and a dedicated staff, Stanton works hard to provide its students with a much-needed leg up in performance and support.
We sat in the health room – a room set aside for groups like ours. It was filled with cozy stuffed pillows, toys and games, and it was a welcoming space for any elementary-aged kid who needed a little time out. Our first group of fifth graders came shyly into the room – they were used to having Miss Kira help Miss Emily, and my presence caused worry and consternation. We assured them that Miss Kira would return next week, and that I was simply there to hand out Play Dough – an ever-present tool in grief groups for both children and adults, to give you something to do with your hands when your heart and mind are fidgety, nervous and tired.
The students were tough, and they had trouble being kind to each other. The violence and loss they’ve seen and experienced, in both their families and their community, is beyond imagine. We watched a clip of a video from Kung Fu Panda 2, where Po, the hero, is reminded of a traumatic incident from his childhood, and we asked the kids what made Po remember this. It was a trigger. We then asked them to write down something that triggers their own memories, and what coping skills they have learned to help them calm down. Some were able to sit still long enough to write on the worksheet, but mostly everyone needed to go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, and take a time out on the pillows to calm down a bit. These were their coping skills.
At the end of the two groups, Miss Emily pronounced them both a success, which surprised me. She noted how even getting five full minutes of attention being paid to the issues that bring these children into the room every week helps them process their pain. I had been worried about feeling overwhelmed by my own grief as I helped the students, but in fact, I was more overwhelmed by the stimulus of five overwrought, under-supported children than by anything personal. I hope I helped a little by being there, and my admiration for the Wendt Center and the love and patience Miss Emily brought to the task grew.
The second part of the day was spent in DC’s KIPP DC College Preparatory school, where every student is groomed to attend college. These are kids who could easily have gone to their local schools and perhaps gotten off track, but instead, some parent or teacher had the wherewithal to get them into the KIPP system, where every student in the school takes challenging coursework and plans to attend college. The school uniform is either your KIPP polo shirt or a t-shirt or sweatshirt with a college name on it. The energy of the halls is contagious – these kids are proud of this school and of their futures.
We met with two groups at KIPP as well. Both groups were small, because it was the day of the student walkout protests on Capitol Hill against gun violence. Many of the KIPP students had already left school for the day. But a few stalwarts came to group. It was clear that this group and Miss Emily are critically important to them, and they’re old enough to understand why. We also talked about triggers with the teens, and actually practiced breathing and walking skills to help shake off anger and fear and sadness.
One of the girls had just returned to school after having been out for two months having surgery for her scoliosis, and she was so happy to be back and giggled when Miss Emily asked about her boyfriend. She had been featured in a news video about the “Traction Sisters” at the local Children’s Hospital, and how the three girls who were all having spinal surgery at the same time learned how to love each other and keep each other sane and optimistic during their long stay in the hospital. She wanted to make sure that Miss Emily showed me the video, and hugged me when she left. I cried as I watched it. Brave doesn’t begin to describe it.
The second group was comprised of a close group of friends whose friend was stabbed and killed on his way to the metro after school last year. They watched their friend die. The school worked with the Wendt Center on grief counseling after the incident, and agreed that this band of friends needed extra support. They, too, were inspiring and extraordinary young people, who are busy dealing with their trauma and loss and at the same time, thinking about how to honor their friend on the anniversary of his death.
By the end of the day, I was wiped out, but not in the way I expected. I thought I would be overcome with my own pain, and would need to work hard to hide it away when with the kids. Instead, I was overwhelmed by the courage of all of the kids we met, both elementary aged and teen. These are children who, in addition to the daily struggles they experience simply by growing up communities that offer few advantages, have to overcome the hurdle of loss and trauma – oftentimes multiple losses and traumas. They are so brave to be willing to face their pain, and their schools are empathetic and supportive, providing them with the space and time to work with skilled, professional counselors to help them through.
For me, it was a vivid reminder of the advantages my family has, despite our great loss and accompanying trauma. We have had the time and the resources to adjust to our new reality, work through our pain with love and support bolstering us, and come through our journey on our way to a new normal without the fear that if we slip up there is no one there to catch us. Despite everything, I continue to feel very lucky.
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And that leads me to a new leg of this journey. As I work on the manuscript of a book about my experience with illness, loss, grief and widowhood, I find that I struggle balancing my writing about the triggers in my own present, daily life, and finding the strength, patience and words to write a more narrative version of the longer-term experience.
So this will be my final edition of Life in the (Widow) Hood. My writing path is taking me in a new direction, one that requires a different kind of concentration and focus. I am deeply grateful to everyone who has been following my story, and hope that I will find you once again when (fingers crossed) this whole enterprise winds up between the covers of a book.
Until then, with love and luck and courage.
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