Just for Five Minutes

As a teacher who helps coordinate recess, I spend a lot of time on the playground. I can’t tell you how many times a day a student approaches me with a bumped knee or upset stomach (Tire swing. Every time.) I know that sending that child into the nurse will not only significantly cut their recess time, but will take unnecessary health office triage… the short walk inside having miraculously cured the imminent ailment.

So my go-to answer is, ‘let’s give it the five minute check’.
I ask them to come find me in five minutes and report if it is better or worse. As you can imagine, time and play are magical, and 90% of the time the student forgets or moves on; like handing their concern to another was just enough.

Sometimes the next five minutes is all we can handle. I think about the times in my life that I have been in intense pain. When you think beyond the next few minutes, you panic. You breathe through the most manageable tiny increments to get through.

A few weeks ago a dear friend lost her son. He was sixteen. There’s nothing I can type here that will justify what they have been through the last few months- from diagnosis to tragic loss. I can’t even attempt to put into words what they are feeling, but I am guessing they would do anything for just five more minutes.

The thing is, this is the friend who does all the stuff for others. Who organizes the care basket and special orders the ‘kicking cancer’s butt’ candle. The friend who graciously invites everyone over even if it’s been embarrassingly long. Who doesn’t hesitate to reach out, offer, cover, and continuously keep showing up. She’s the first person to comment on my writing posts, even when I feel like it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever written.
I heard a story once about a beloved high school teacher who passed away. Many former students came to the funeral clutching a treasured note or special story, certain that they were this teacher’s favorite, only to discover that everyone else thought so too. This teacher had a gift for making each person feel like they were the most important. This is my friend Tanya.
I can only hope she feels the love back right now that she has given out to others.

Maybe they are getting through five minutes at a time. Thinking about his wit, humor, heart, his faith. Honoring him through pictures, stories, the awe of a summer sunset, and a dragonfly landing softly on water.

To our dear friends, we love you.
For five minutes and beyond.