During the summer of 2017, and even at times, this past summer, recovery from grief and loss seemed improbable. Losing a son like Mark assured me my spot in line, stuck in a position and place I never asked to be in.
Life is now pockmarked by sad anniversaries. These will be forever oriented around an event that turned lives upside-down: the last time we saw Mark; the start of his final walk; his birthday, Christmas, his death…and on and on the calendar turns.
When I returned from my Father’s Day road trip in late June, and with July’s swelter, once more I was moored in sadness and hopelessness. The odds that things might dramatically improve were not any that a successful gambler would take.
We’re fortunate to have an exceptional grief counselor. At an appointment prior to summer, in May, she reframed how I was feeling as “moving through grief.” Her suggestion and semantic reorientation from “moving beyond grief” worked for me.
I’m not dismissing that my physical malady and SI joint issue contributed to the darkness I experienced most days. Sitting at home with nothing to do and with no prospects of anyone intervening dropped a veil of interminability over July.
My walking partner and friend, Paul, was also experiencing back issues. Both of us had dusted-off our tennis games during the summer and fall of 2017. This tennis season, neither of us was capable of swinging a racket, or chasing balls on the baseline—we were simply struggling to remain upright.
August forced me to dig into my Medicare certification requirements. I wasn’t eager for this three to four-week period of completing modules in order to pass the federally-mandated certification exam that allows agents little wiggle room. You basically have to know your stuff if you want to sell this type of health insurance. On top of these strict federal mandates, each plan imposes additional requirements before being deemed “ready to sell.” The good news for me this year is that I’m contracted with three plans, instead of last year’s solitary option.
Tutoring at the private school nearby may have saved me in 2017. No matter how dark and difficult things felt, I knew I had to gather my wits about me late every afternoon in preparation for the student I was assigned to work with.
Driving onto the stately grounds of the school replete with a 19th century mansion always managed to enhance my mood and remind me that it was time for me to “perform” for two hours. And that’s what I did beginning in September through early December when the students left for Christmas break.
Teaching and tutoring are noble endeavors.
Then, I was back in January and helped a young man I’d been working with one-on-one to the finish line and his graduation in May. During my time working with Chris on his graduation speech, I recognized that the skills I’d gathered and honed while doing workforce training, teaching writing classes, working on my own journey of reinvention, and remaining committed to personal self-improvement dating back to 2005 were actually transferable to the work I’d now drifted into.
On top of that, there were four summers of coaching a group of college-level baseball players for three months. I spent two to three nights a week with them, and most of the day on Sunday when we played doubleheaders. I’d always been able to cultivate relationships with my players. I’m grateful that Mark wanted to play for his dad and that I got to see him do his thing on the baseball diamond countless times.
All this to say that I’d arrived at a place I never planned to be. Tutoring, mixed with a bevy of transferable skills germane to education helped me to see that there might be additional opportunities for someone like me.
I’d read in one of our local free papers, I think it was The Forecaster, that all the surrounding communities within 20-25 miles of where I was living were struggling to find substitute teachers. They’d even “bumped-up” the pay above a subsistence wage. Not that I was looking to get rich and in fact, money wasn’t what motivated me to inquire about what was required to sub in Brunswick (where I’m living) and at another school district nearby.
An application, my college transcript, and some references got the ball rolling. I had to get fingerprinted and agree to a background check. None of this was prohibitive in the least.
Yesterday, I subbed for a high school English Arts teacher. I spent most of my day talking about writing, literature, George Orwell, and why words matter. I got paid for doing something I’d probably do for free! At the same time, the past 20 months following Mark’s death has been a lean financial stretch for a freelancer like me.
Two days ago, someone called me to ask if I could help them out on the insurance side of things. It’s a well-respected agency down the coast. In November and December, I’ll be working with some of their clients, helping to meet their insurance needs during open enrollment. This will likely be a day or two each week.
At one point in July, I looked at Mary and said, “can someone throw me a bone?” What I meant is, could someone recognize I was in a bad place and just needed a hand up?
I don’t know why when nothing’s happening, it’s nearly impossible to generate momentum. But once you find yourself moving, no matter how slowly, opportunities begin to present themselves. At least that’s been my experience.
My fall is going to be really busy, I think. I’m not complaining at all about it. I’m sure other things I’ve set in motion during the difficult days of summer will hit at some point and I’ll be able to announce bigger and better things down the road.
There are times when I’m thinking about Mark that I can hear him say, “just keep doing what you’re doing, dad.” I’m trying, Mark.