Finding Purpose

Waiting. Waiting for the day to end. Waiting for the weekend, for holidays and any release from the daily grind. The days seem to blur as each one plays out exactly like the ones before it. Even after two years I still count the days, weeks, and months it has been since I last saw him in person. Ever since he left, nothing has been the same, there are no family game nights, no excited chats at the dinner table, and no laughter from his wonderful jokes. The only excitement comes from trying to determine the meaning of his few heartfelt messages between blacked out lines. 

I can still remember the day, now two years ago, November 3rd 2018, when my father came home with tears in his eyes as he told us that he would be deploying to an undisclosed location for as long as the military told him they would need him there. He left later that week, promising to send us letters as often as he would be allowed. At the time, I didn’t understand what this meant, I assumed that he would be back within a week or two and that he would be safe wherever he was going. After two months with only a few sentences in random letters from his employers at the military saying that he had arrived safely at his location, I realized that this would be a much longer separation than I had hoped. 

Sleep became an elusive beast that I could not quite capture during those first few months. I was very close with my father, as we had spent many great nights together playing games, we often would run together on weekends, and have great discussions about the latest new technology and inventions. I found myself staring into the distance during class, ignoring lessons as my grades dropped. My outlook on life had turned upside down as no longer was each day an opportunity to have a fun time and learn something new, it was just another day to grudgingly force myself to work through. Every night I dreamt that he would return the very next day, and that he would be able to retire from the military and never be forced to leave me again. 

One of these days was today. I had finished another boring day of lectures from my unenthusiastic teacher who seemed to do nothing but drone on and on. When the bell rang, marking the end of the school day, I went to the study hall room and began work on my homework. As per usual, I didn’t like to return to my house until the rest of my family got home from their daily activities, so I did my homework at school. I was working alone when I heard a knock on the door and my teacher, Mr. Duran, entered the room.

 “Elend,” he asked, “what's wrong, you always seem distant from the rest of the class.” He surprised me by coming here, no one else ever seemed to notice me.

“I’m fine.” I quickly responded, looking down at my papers. 

Mr. Duran didn’t seem to believe me. “Elend, something is clearly bothering you, another teacher was telling me about how upbeat you used to be.” 

I was shocked by how much Mr. Duran seemed to care about how I was feeling, I had assumed that he was just another teacher who only cared about his students as a score on a test. Despite this, I knew that he would never be able to understand what I had gone through so I told him, “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” I gathered my things and dashed away, the room blurring as I wiped my cheek. 

The next day I arrived at school a few minutes early and Mr. Duran pulled me to the side. He said that he wanted to talk to me after class. During class I tried to at least pretend to be interested in the subject at hand. I was trying to make Mr. Duran think that I was feeling better than I actually was. As the bell, my freedom from the monotony of school, started to loom ever closer I began to contemplate whether I would actually stay to talk to Mr. Duran. Every logical part of me was saying to just leave, to escape school and to continue as I had always done. Despite this, when the bell rang and the other students rushed out of class, I stayed. Mr. Duran called me over to his desk and gave me a chair. “Tell me what has been troubling you,” he stated, his empathy obvious in his voice. 

After only a second of consideration I decided to tell him everything. I attempted to maintain my composure as I told him about how close I was with my father and how devastating it was for me when he left. How I only receive one letter of mostly blacked out sentences from him every month. I told him it all. He didn’t pretend to understand what I had gone through, he just let me speak, let me get everything out that I had been holding in for so long. And when I was done talking, he only nodded and said that he was sorry. He offered for me to join him after class on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a board game club that he had created. Mr. Duran explained that I wasn’t alone, and that everyone goes through difficult times at various points in their lives. He asked me to act as if my father was with me no matter what I am doing, and to always do your best even when life throws a curveball at you. I was grateful for Mr. Duran’s kindness and, as I left the room, I thanked him for listening to me.

In the weeks that followed my discussion with Mr. Duran I pushed myself to do better than ever. As I began to pay more attention in class I realized that Mr. Duran was really an amazing teacher, his voice always matched that of the people he was teaching us about and he was always ready to crack a joke. My grades began to rise back to their former height and I started to socialize with the other members of the board game club. I found out that all 7 of the other students had gone through or were going through various difficult things in their home lives. Speaking with them gave me the feeling that I was welcomed, and people wanted me to be around. I realized that I wasn’t alone in my struggles and sharing stories with the other members helped me work through a lot. I finally had a home, a purpose, a reason to work hard, to succeed in taking every opportunity each day presents to me. Suddenly, each day wasn’t about whether my father would return soon, it was about how much I could accomplish and write to my father about. I was no longer waiting for things I could not control, instead I was taking everything life threw at me, good and bad, and embracing it for what it was.