Writing With Woods

Friend:  "Are you okay?" Me:  "Yeah, why?" Friend:  "There's an ambulance outside the PAC." Me:  "Uh oh." I'd left rehearsal a few minutes early so I could set up for that night's support group, but I started messaging people to find out what happened. There were so many possibilities . . .  It turns out a student had a seizure during the final moments of rehearsal. She is okay. That's the most important part.  Here's what I want people to know, though. The other students at rehearsal, ranging in age from 14-18, jumped into action. One student immediately called 911 while others cleared a path for paramedics and waited to flag down the ambulance at the correct entrance. Someone ran for the principal. Others tended to their unconscious friend, rolling her onto her side and protecting her head. When she regained consciousness, their soothing voices and gentle touches helped reassure the student that she was okay and that help (a...

This blog is separate from my usual blog . This semester, I have a brand new class for seniors--a blogging class. To help them along, I'm writing to some of the prompts I assign them. Anything posted here is a result of this class. Because my grief is such a part of me, it will surface in these writings but is not the focus of this blog. What is the bravest thing I’ve ever done?  I’m not a soldier or firefighter or police officer. I do not bravely put my life on the line for others. I’m not a mountain climber; I’m not even a rock climber. I don’t join in protest marches or shout my truths and terrors for all to hear. I haven’t faced and survived serious illness.   I’m just . . . me. Eleanor Roosevelt advised doing one thing every day that scares us. If I do, am I brave?  Because some days, just facing the world terrifies me. Some days, I want nothing more than to lie in bed and stare at the wall, to weep and wail, to bury my face in Cooper’s pillow--one of the few i...