Melissa Face

One evening at dinner, my son, Evan, pushed his food around his plate instead of eating. His dad and I thought he wasn’t feeling well. When we asked what was wrong, he tearfully explained that he couldn’t eat meat anymore. He said that he cared about animals and didn’t feel comfortable eating them. We listened to him and provided support, but we both thought this would be a short-lived phase, and he would be back eating meat in no time.

“I’ll never be a teacher!” I proclaimed as a high school senior. “My mom teaches.” My attitude was rebellious and my spirit defiant. I majored in psychology as an undergraduate and ignored my calling, according to my college English professor. After graduating, I worked briefly as an addiction counselor before earning an MA in human resources. When I was finished trying to prove a point, I took and passed the praxis, earned my teaching license, and became an educator – just like my mom.

My children experienced loss for the first time when my grandmother, Mammie, passed away a few years ago. My older child went through a range of emotions, including anger, sadness, and confusion. They came and went in no particular order, and emotions sometimes surfaced when least expected. My younger child had a lot of questions about death and wanted to know what Mammie was wearing in heaven and if she was able to eat all the candy she wanted.