Say a little prayer?

So... I have a student who is very ill and maybe dying, and I'm not sure what to do. I mean, I know what to do; I sent a gift to his hospital room, and if the worst happens, I'll send a card to the family, attend the service, and, if the family needs help, donate for the service. But I still don't know what to do... I kind of hoped I could slide through thirty years of teaching without this ever happening. And all my kids are special, right? But this kid is pretty special.

Happy Mothers Day

I watched this video earlier, and, as I often do, imagined what I would say in their place. Six or so seconds to sum up how awesome my mom is? Unpossible. I mean, would I say...

That she taught me about the Puritan work ethic (no, not just about it -- to HAVE it).
That she gave me a sense of fairness and equality.
That she taught me not to judge people.
That she taught me that the only person whose judgment mattered about me was myself, and that pride in myself had to come from what was inside, from doing good and making good choices.
That she taught me how to cook, sometimes by letting me experiment in my own hard-headed way, and letting me fail (my improvised peanut butter and jelly cookies come to mind).
That she let me make messes and taught me how to clean them up.
That she swing-danced with me in the living room.
That she sang to me, all the time (even though we both know...)
That I had freedom, but necessary limits as well.
And that she was able to ease up on those limits when I needed it, too.
She taught me to have a positive attitude.
She both taught me and modeled for me the importance of exercise and healthy eating.
She taught me the difference between fashion and style.
She taught me to read, a lot, for information and pleasure.
She instilled in me my love for the movies.
She taught me the names of plants.
She told me I could always come to her about anything, and then proved it was true when I came to her.
She never freaked out about my hair, because hair grows.
She forced me to take on mature tasks that I was scared of, so that when I left the nest, I could handle them.
She told me a thousand times that she would love me no matter what and I could be anything I wanted. She wouldn't be disappointed if I became, as she often said, a ditch-digger.
That she had a policy of transparency about budgeting and bills, and that to this day, I am probably better at household finance stuff than most people I meet.
 That she taught me that saying I love you is important, but not as important as showing it.
She taught me restraint.
That she helped me with the downpayment for my first house, without which I wouldn't have this nice house in this nice neighborhood today.
That she has donated, oh, 6,500 hours or so to care of my child, which she provides with loving grace and patience.

Could I tell a story instead? About how, after she found out I was skipping school, she came down to the school EVERY. SINGLE. DAY, made friends with the attendance lady, and checked to make sure I'd attended all my periods, despite the fact that she worked full time.

About how, when I actually got kicked out of that school, she picked me up, drove without speaking to a bookstore, got out and slammed the door, came back several minutes later and tossed a book on my lap. I looked at the title, Dibs in Search of Self, and the category, "child psychology," and snapped at her: "Psychology? What, do you think I need psychological help?!" She gritted her teeth and looked straight ahead. "No," she said. "I read it years ago, and when I saw it, I just thought you'd like it." I knew she'd always love me no matter what, but I was feeling a little touch and go that day. But on one of the roughest yet days of our life thus far, she bought me a present. Just because she thought I'd like it.

After I had started my new school, I had it pretty rough. Think of going from "Fame" to "Stand and Deliver" and still having your gothy-hippie-blue-haired-drama-nerd thing going on. Yeah. I went home one day and cried to my mom that the other students hated me, made fun of me for how I dressed, and that I felt so left out and alone. She reminded me that I was choosing to dress that way. She could, if I wanted, drive me to the Gap right then and suit me up like all the other kids. I just had to decide what I wanted. And you know, my mom is kind of a Gap woman herself -- well, Ralph Lauren, really -- but I knew it wasn't that she was harboring some secret desire for me to change and fit in. She was challenging me to accept myself as I was, to see my own role in my challenges and my life, and to decide how I was going to move forward. I decided to be myself. And even though it would have been easier for both of us, at times, if I wasn't so weird and hard-headed and flamboyant and outspoken, I also know she loves me just the way I am. So even though in some ways we are very different, in my heart, and in her heart, we are just the same. Strong. Good. Caring. Mothers. Thanks, Mom.