I started out this morning in a very melancholy sort of mood. One of the primary reasons for this is the fact that my cooperating teacher, who is both a superb teacher and a lovely person, is gone today at her mother’s side as she is about to pass away from complications of Alzheimer’s disease. Even without all of the support and assistance that she has given, I would have a hard time not being a little mournful for her own struggles.

The other reason: An exceedingly moving piece by one of my favorite teacher-writers, Paul Martin, entitled “Standing On The Edge Of The Rest Of My Life.”

I can’t say much about it – there simply aren’t words – but it is an immensely bittersweet piece, filled with absolutely exquisite language; indeed, language so beautiful that I am compelled to give just a taste:

So here we go. We must believe in spring. I pop Bill Evans’ lyrically sad jazz piano into the computer. Life is a journey. One foot in front of the other. Regroup, revise, restart, rewrite. Stop crying and get moving.

Outside in the early morning five a.m. light, Stone eats his breakfast while I let the cold wind wash over me and contemplate the sky. Canadian geese knife their way north, racing for summer. Their cries fill the morning. Nature goes on. Life goes on. And it will go on without me, but I would prefer that my journey continue for as long as possible. The road beckons. The struggle will be difficult, but difficult tasks offer the greatest reward.

Let’s go.

How can one argue with that kind of perspective?

[Update: I talked to my co-op after school and found out that her mother passed away at around noon today. It really is a sad day.]

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