It’s been something of a sob-fest around here recently. Last Friday, on our last day of school, the fifth grade boys in particular had a very hard time. Two of them burst into tears and could not finish reading their poems during the graduation celebration. Afterwards, the guy who ALMOST NEVER stops being silly was sobbing, as was a boy who is moving, and the boy who doesn’t like to show any feeling other than annoyance. The boy who is probably the coolest of them all threw himself into my arms before I even knew he was headed my way. Several others teared up over the course of the day and, for a few of them, crying recurred over the course of the day. It provided a great opportunity for everyone else to practice empathy and compassion, which they did beautifully, even with those who were not particular friends. You know the ASCA National Standard  PS:A1.5 – Identify and express feelings? Check!

Luckily, I have a great book about crying, which I will tell you about. But first, some more tears . . .

Since then it’s been my turn to headline the sob-fest. That night was the high school graduation, at which a former student, who died while she was in our fourth grade, was honored. I was seated two rows behind her mom and could only watch through my own choking tears as she sobbed. Yesterday was the last day of school for teachers. We have a record number of staff members leaving our school this year – two classroom teachers, a PE teacher, and a secretary retiring; a classroom teacher, special educator, SLP, OT, and my co-counselor scattering across the country because of their husbands’ jobs; a teacher moving into administration in a different district; and an administrator relocating to the middle school. I have worked closely with all of them, and some of them are my very good friends. In addition, a former intern who has been working in a nearby district, and who is a dear friend, is also moving far away for her husband’s fellowship (What is up with these husbands and their jobs?!!!) I had delayed writing my goodbye notes until the morning (still in denial until the last minute), but it didn’t do anything to prevent the crying I was trying to avoid. I pulled myself together to drive to school, but then started in again as soon as I got there and began passing out the notes.

Let me tell you, people get all kinds of uncomfortable when they see a usually composed and unflappable school counselor losing it — kind of like kids seeing their parent crying! People were doing their best to comfort me, but I could tell that their universes were wobbling a bit.  And it wasn’t just me! On the last day of school, my co-counselor, Erica, went into a fourth grade classroom to say goodbye. The kids were watching Finding Nemo.  A paraprofessional saw Erica tearing up and said teasingly, “Having a touching moment?” thinking that she was reacting to Nemo being lost. That was it for Erica, and she really started crying! The teacher whispered, “She’s sad because she’s leaving,” and the poor para almost folded himself in half with chagrin and horror. Erica and I have since had some good laughs (we’re pretty much cried out by now) about how silly we felt and our “excellent modelling” of emotional expression, and she even suggested that I include her Finding Nemo story in this post.

Yesterday I bid goodbye to dear teacher friends (the sad farewells began a week and a half ago when our very pregnant OT left so that she could be in her new, faraway home before her baby arrives). This afternoon it was farewell to my former intern and her sweet baby. Tomorrow morning at our annual district counselors’ breakfast we will send off Erica and two other counselors from the district. Then I’ll head back to school where I will be greeted by Erica’s empty office. Sad, sad, sad!

Among my tasks tomorrow is re-shelving some of my books. One of my favorites is Tough Boris by Mem Fox. Boris Von Der Borch is a mean, ornery, greedy, bullying pirate captain, the leader of a scurvy, scruffy crew. He is the toughest of the tough, not someone you would expect to show fragility or weakness, “but when his parrot died, he cried and cried.” Boris is comforted by a stowaway who offers his violin case for a parrot burial at sea, at which all the pirates openly grieve. The pictures in this book are beautiful and invite careful exploration and discovery. They even reveal a subplots about loneliness, wanting to belong, and mercy that is never stated in words. The prose is spare but musical and evocative. The book ends with one of my favorite lines (in fact, I used it as my personal Facebook status yesterday):

“All pirates cry. And so do I.”

Tough Boris is a great book to share with kids who are hesitant to express their sadness or to use to normalize and start a discussion about grief. Examining the pictures can provide a safe, slow approach for kids who need to ease into the topic of sadness or grief. And I guarantee, not even your toughest young customer will dismiss Boris as a weakling. He REALLY has an angry mask. (See my post What’s Behind the Angry Mask? for more info about the angry mask.) When he takes his mask away, though, he is a great role model for how to let go of a tough shell and express pain. The book is meant for younger children, but kids right up through fifth grade like it a lot. It’s also a great book to read as an introduction to the Angry Mask concept (3rd grade and up), or as an introduction to, and model for, writing about sadness (2nd grade or late 1st). Here’s an example:

Mrs. Lallier was smiley. All counselors are smiley. Mrs. Lallier was comforting. All counselors are comforting. Mrs. Lallier was brave. All counselors are brave. But when her friends moved away, she cried and cried. All counselors cry. And so do I.

Sniff, sniff.  I will really miss my friends, who I love so dearly. But guess what! New teachers and a new co-counselor are on their way to our school. And maybe there will be. . . new friends, new joys, and new opportunities to open my heart enough to risk it breaking a little.