Brian
I was debating on whether or not I wanted to post this.
Last night, I wrote about my friend Brian.
I decided to post this to share his incredible story.
So here it is…
Brian
I couldn’t stop thinking about him today.
I kept replaying the few quiet hours we sat next to each other.
I spotted him in the crowd of people.
I recognized his dress up shirt and cleanly shaven head. He was sitting all alone.
With excitement, yet nervousness, I made my way toward him. With an awkward smile and hug, I sat next to him. With a quick hi, we sat as if we were family that just saw each other 5 minutes ago. No small talk needed.
We watched our junior higher’s stand so proudly. As kid after kid walked across the stage, we would clap and nod our heads remembering the hard times they gave us. There comes this crazy proud love for kids that give you the toughest times.
We continued to smile and chuckle as the toughest kids walked quickly across the stage.
As the hot sun is beating on my skin, I use the graduation flier to fan under my hair and feel more freckles pop up under my skin.
I glance over at Brian and notice his hands neatly placed on his thighs. His posture upright, and his eyes at every student walking across the stage. I notice an old student from last year sitting behind us and I forget her name. He quickly looks over at me and with a smirk says, “It’s Taylor.”
We continue to burn in the heat in our different ways when… Brian sees it. His homeroom class.
As they started lining up to hear their names being called, he made the faintest sound. The best way I can describe it is the sound you hear during a good prayer or satisfying talk. He leaned over to me and said, “That is my class.”
Right there, I almost broke.
About 6 months ago, Brian had a brain aneurism. It was sudden and hard for the kids to know that their teacher was here one day, and in the hospital the next. The kids poured so much love his way with an abundant amount of get well letters. I remember visiting him at the recovery center, not knowing what to expect. I checked his room, and he wasn’t there. As I started to walk outside, I saw him. Sitting in his wheelchair, clean shaven head, and hands placed neatly on his thighs, he was listening to his dad. He didn’t remember me, but he told me he was thankful for my visit. That was one of the hardest visits I’ve ever had to make.
And here we were, a few months later…as he watches a teacher, other than himself, walking his class up to graduate. Whispering each student’s name before they are even called. Taking in the sun as he watches the students proudly take on 9th grade.
After the ceremony, we walked into the crowd of students. I overheard an old student ask, “Are you still teaching?” He paused and said, “Yes, yes I am.”
I couldn’t help but stare in his direction.
The students flocked toward him.
With no questions asked, they threw their arms around him and wanted a picture with him.
His smile never left the cameras.
