Once a year teachers from all over the US gather together at the national LPM Symposium for an amazing weekend of inspiration, fun and learning in Mesa, AZ. We attend training, workshops, and multiple classes to help us become better teachers (and parents/people). One part of symposium this year was an essay contest. The theme was 'Through the Eyes of a Child'. The following is the winning essay I wrote:
"May There Always Be Me"
Twenty
minutes before my parent meeting in August of 2012, I had a pregnant mother,
and friend of mine, call and tell me that there were complications with her
unborn daughter and it was going to be too much for their family to participate
in LPM and take care of a sick infant.
There were a few tears and understanding words shared between us at
which point I told her I would be happy to have her 5 yr old son, Carson,
participate if something changed.
Sadly,
things did change and a week later I attended the funeral of that precious 3
day old daughter.
My
friend called me about a week after the funeral and asked if I still had a spot
for Carson, which I did. She said
she felt as though she needed to keep things as normal as possible for the
other children, 5 and 3 years old, after the passing of the baby. Carson is one VERY, VERY active boy who
needs an understanding and loving teacher. She thought music class would be a great outlet and learning
environment for him.
I
asked his mom how he was doing with the death of his little sister and she told
me he had never said anything about it.
He would act out sometimes but never talked about his sister. They were attending grief
counseling where the counselor told them that this was completely normal and he
may NEVER talk about it. Young
children process differently than adults, but to make sure they always kept the
lines of communication open and let him know he could talk about it if he
wanted. But not to expect
it.
I
had him start class on lesson 3 so he would have his mom there with him on his
first visit to LPM. I quickly
realized that he was going to be a very challenging student. Sitting still and not talking were not
his strong points! I sometimes
wondered if it was really worth the money being spent. I would often struggle with him walking
around, sitting in corners and trying to tell stories, very animated stories,
in the middle of my teaching. I
would say to him, “I really want to hear that story. Can you remember it and tell me after class?” I would say that to him… A LOT.
Then
came our first time in class talking about a lullaby and listening to/singing
‘May There Always be Sunshine’. We
rocked as we listened to this song.
Carson rocked. He didn’t
talk. He listened. When I stopped the music he raised his hand. First time ever. I called on him and very excitedly told
him, “Thank you for raising your hand!”
He said, “That’s a song we should sing to my sister.” He continued on, “She isn’t here
anymore. She is in heaven but I
think she can still hear us. She
died. They put her in a box and
sent her to heaven.” I was so
taken aback. I did not ever expect
to hear him talk about the passing of his baby sister. Obviously, this time I let him tell as
much of his story as he wanted. “She was sick in my mommy’s tummy. The doctor had to take her out. But she was dead. In a box. They put her in a box.
It was little. I think me
and mommy should sing this song to her at bedtime. It would make her happy. She would like it.
I will sing to her.” I
tried to compose myself and finish class.
I
talked with his mom after class and told her what occurred during our
lullaby. She was in tears and
thanked me over and over for sharing with her and allowing him to share and
talk. Up to that point, he still
had not said a word about it to anyone.
Not once. She was grateful
there was an opportunity to get a glimpse into his mind as to what he was
feeling and thinking about having a sibling die. The grief counselor prepared her to never expect Carson to speak
of it.
Carson
had some weeks following that lesson where he would be in tears or would act
out. But we worked together. He started answering questions. Correctly. Sometimes yelling out of turn… but he KNEW HIS STUFF! I can ask him any question today and he
will have the right answer. All
those weeks of sitting in the corner, wandering around or doing donkey kicks –
he was listening. That smart
little boy was teasing me and making me think he wasn’t paying attention. He was
paying attention and music has opened up his world in ways I will never be able
to understand. A family was
strengthened and gained a greater perspective of their 5 year old’s life than
even a grief counselor could believe. This family was able to better assist their
child in healing after the loss of a sister because of what was shared during
my LPM class.
I
have been teaching LPM for 7 years now.
I have seen LPM affect kids and families in so many positive ways
throughout the years. However,
those 10 minutes during that class listening to Carson’s story after singing a
lullaby changed me and my outlook on how and why I teach Let’s Play Music
forever. It reaffirmed to me
that music has powers beyond notes and chords. It has strengthened my conviction that every child needs
music in their life. And not just
for the reasons and benefits we normally think of as music educators. I continue to be impressed with all of
my LPM classes, but I especially look forward to seeing what Carson is able to
accomplish when he graduates two years from now.
