I am sitting in the Phoenix airport.
On my way home.
For a funeral.
(I am supposed to be flying to Houston. For a friend's birthday.)
Sunday, I learned that one of my students (one of my football boys), was killed in a terrible accident.
I think of these kids regularly, when times were especially hard at my job this year I would read letters from them and remind myself that yes, it is possible to have an amazing group of kids in an amazing classroom.
When I heard of this death, I knew immediately I had to go home. However, it's a holiday weekend. Airfare was outrageous. But I am so blessed with people in my life and although I still had to spend some money that I didn't really have, I was able to find an acceptably priced flight.
So I will be home for the weekend. For my kids. For his parents.
Because as much as this is totally awful, I promised these kids I would be there for them always. I expected the next time I saw them to be next year at eight grade graduation, not this year, the week before they finished seventh grade.
A promise is a promise no matter how hard the follow through might be.