Smitty

This weekend I’m heading to Rochester for the Memorial Service and Tribute Concert of my high school choir teacher, Jerry Smith, who passed away in April from cancer. Smitty, as he was better known, was about the best teacher anyone could have asked for. I had him in 4th grade as a music teacher and then had him for three years of choir in high school. Smitty also directed the plays at Mayo for many years and my brother Pat worked with him in this capacity as Pat did the lighting. We each were very fond of him and he touched the lives many, many students.

If you’ve ever read Tuesdays With Morrie, well, that says it all. Smitty was Morrie. I think that’s why that booked resonated with me so much. Smitty exposed me to a world of music I wouldn’t have found. I love musicals because of him. Some days we’d walk in to the class room and find that the chairs had been turned toward the TV. He’d say, “I don’t feel like singing today. I feel like watching Singing In the Rain.” Or Fantasia, Sound of Music, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Oklahoma, the list goes on and on.

And the music he chose for our concerts opened doors to me too. We sang religious songs, folks songs, pop and rock, hymns, Christmas tunes, Disney tunes, it was awesome. I remember when we learned Canon in D…it was so beautiful. And a classmate had recently passed away in a car accident and Smitty suggested we dedicate it to him and it helped us all learn to get along with the first death many of my fellow students had ever dealt with.

When I lost my step-sister Mary in 10th grade, I was supposed to perform at graduation. It fell on the day of her funeral. Our final grade depended on 2 things-singing at Bacceluarate and at Graduation. I was worried. My mother wrote a note and I brought it in to him. Smitty wasn’t there, so I left it on his desk. He found me later and patted me on the back and said, “Don’t worry about it.” He was way more concerned about me and my family. He didn’t have to say much. But that pat on the back said volumes.

I remember running into him at the airport in Twin Cities on our way back from visiting Pat one summer. I had to pee like mad because I refused to go on the plane. I was racing from the gate…and there was Smitty. I had to stop and talk to him. And he was so excited to learn that Pat had moved out East and what was he doing, etc. So, I stood there and chatted because I just couldn’t NOT talk to Smitty!

I tried out for his “Southtown Singers” group my senior year. It was something I wanted REALLY bad, but I knew deep down I wasn’t quite good enough for. No, I didn’t make the group, but he told me he was glad I tried out. That made my day.

Singing for him at graduation one last time, we sang one of my favorites: The Irish Blessing. And when we finished, he winked at us and I knew that I would never forget this man. He just made you put so much emotion into what you were singing. In return, that singing made me feel good. To this day, singing makes me feel better.

The last time I saw him was in 1995. I went to the graduation of one of my friends at the Mayo Civic Center in Rochester. As I was leaving, I ran into Smitty on the front steps. He looked great and said he was going to be retiring. I had to tell him that I missed singing with him and that I’d never forget all that I learned from him. You could tell he had heard this many times, but yet seemed uncomfortable all the same hearing that praise. He thanked me and wished me well.

But the one thing that sticks out in my mind is the day he came back to school after being out for cancer treatment my senior year in 1993. He had found an excellent sub in the form of one of our classmates mother’s who was a voice teacher. She was nothing like Smitty-didn’t let us goof around-but she really knew her music. We’d been working hard for the Spring Concert and had a really nice repertoires of songs ready to go. But that day, we sang something that just made sense.

Smitty didn’t even say anything to us as he walked in. It was loud and crazy as it always was as we arrived in that big, airy room. People were standing around, talking, laughing, looking around. Smitty purposefully walked into the room and headed straight for the piano. He sat down and started banging out “River of Judea” an old, upbeat spiritual.

We knew it by heart from the previous Fall concert and jumped right in. When the song was over, he stood up and just beamed. And we stood on our chairs and clapped for 5 minutes. He said later, that was the best day of his life.

We get to celebrate Smitty’s life this weekend. And I know that I’ll never forget him.

“Patience is the ability to endure waiting, delay, or provocation without becoming annoyed or upset, or to persevere calmly when faced with difficulties.”

I do not have patience any longer.

There’s been a lot going on with me personally, as you can see from my previous blogs. I still haven’t found a doctor or any answers. My insurance is changing at work, so I’m playing the waiting game. It’s pretty frustrating.

I’m not being a good wife, mother, daughter, sister or friend these days. This is pretty much because I can’t focus on much and can’t remember to make time for the others. I freak out over small stuff.

I’m not a good employee these days either. I can’t process anything. I can’t remember what I was supposed to do. I am short tempered when stupid people ask me the same questions I’ve answered a thousand times.

“Can you just hang on?” How much longer? Until I do something terrible? I hang in check with my own sanity on a daily basis. This weekend, I wouldn’t have blamed Mike in the least for walking out the door with Cameron and saying, “I’m done.” I also wouldn’t have been surprised if his family had called him up after our visit and said, “Who the hell is that psycho and why did you marry her?”

About the only one that I can be around is my dog. What is it about your dog that love you unconditionally? Other then crawling under the deck yesterday, wrapping her leash around a cinder block, and barking furiously because she was stuck, I love this dog dearly. It’s not to say I don’t love my family, it’s just that my dog is the one that licks my tears and lays next to me on the bed when I feel that I am the most unlovable person in the world.

I wish I could just, ‘get over it’, whatever ‘it’ is. But, it’s not that easy. I wish it was. I wish that I could just snap my fingers and start being active and happy again. It will happen. I know I’ll get there. It’s just the wait that hurts.

That damn Cymbalta commercial on TV says it all.
“Depression hurts.”
and
“Depression affects you and the people around you-the people who mean the most.”

I’ve been doing some research on my own of anti-depressants to see if I can help come up with some answers. Of course, I’d rather not be on a medication. But, I’m not sure if I’m a suitable candidate for this. I’m trying to wean myself off of the Wellbutrin after taking myself off Effexor. Wellbutrin is really hard to get off from. I’ve learned that it’s a different type of drug then the others commonly known on the market. Most are the SSRI’s (Zoloft, Prozac, Paxil) which are Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors. I could explain what it is, but it would bore you. Wellbutrin is in a class of DRI and NRI drugs called Bupropion. They do things a bit differently with your brain then the SSRI. I seem to respond better to Wellbutrin then the others. So, I’m on the lam for another one that is similar.

Anyway, life sucks at the moment. I hope it’s better for others.

On the flip side, I have a little boy who makes my day better each time I look at him. He can make me laugh and smile and I try to keep that in mind when I’m hitting the low patch. I’m lucky that I have a great husband, child, parents, etc that are pushing me to keep trying to find help. I don’t know what I’d do without them all.

It’s funny what these times bring us with our emotions. I miss my dog Taffy terribly lately. She’s been gone 10 years! I miss my grandma’s a lot. They were a good source to go talk to when I was down. I guess they both made me stop and think always that things aren’t that bad. They had it much worse-I know that.