Sometimes it’s easy to romanticize the people you work with. Aggravating quirks can turn into “endearing” qualities, for instance. Other times there’s no danger in romanticizing. You know you simply don’t like some colleagues.
This week, the “world’s best administrator”–as I’ve referred to her–unexpectedly lost her husband. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, but seeing this happen to her–an outstanding educator and friend–is unsettling, to say the least.
The reaction at school was incredible. Students wrote poems and cards and sent them to her. I was with her when she read some of them. A pop-out frog face made her laugh; another student swore she’d take my administrator’s place and bear this burden for her. Teachers and administrators accompanied her and her friends each day to let her know that we love her.
Her husband, who I did not know, was eulogized as a loving, intense person whose biggest accomplishment was marrying my administrator. At the funeral yesterday, the pews were packed, primarily by people who wanted to pay tribute to the man who supported a woman who has touched so many of us–with her unwavering support and creative solutions to the unending problems of public education. Many of us were members of the school where she works.
The staff at my school were informed on Tuesday. At every turn I heard people asking what they could do to help her. Some took food. Some made home visits. Some chipped in for flowers. Others offered prayers. Most of us tried to run the school as best we could in her absence as a tribute to the professionalism she demonstrates each day. Petty grievances among colleagues dissolved as we looked for ways to stretch and be better educators, despite our differences.
I still can’t sort out why my administrator suffered this loss (in addition to the loss of her mother a few months ago) this way. But one of the most unexpected graces is how I’ve finally seen that school–MY school–can be a community when presented with the challenge.
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