Giving Death

Posts with this symbol are an experiment. Read with love.

Posts with this symbol are an experiment. Read with love.

Challenge: On day four, you wrote a post about losing something. Today, write about finding something.

Today’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment — loosely defined.

Author’s Note: My first post in this series (The Volunteer) drew the scene where I suspected I had lost the attempt to implement French into my children’s elementary school curriculum. This is the aftermath.

Giving Death

Living in a language racist town (let me be frank), I was run over and flattened by the prevalence of Spanish in today’s society. Bull-dozed and steam-roll flattened.

And it hurt. A lot. For two years I was a ranting lunatic trying to raise awareness by attending meetings, offering presentations, formulating a parent support group, attending more meetings, offering my expertise-all of it voluntarily-for my love of French.


To no avail. Giving Death is a term I’ve coined for having negative volunteer experiences. (Ironically, I’ve suffered Giving Death more than once for the love of French.) Volunteering my passion, I contributed for the greater good with the hope that my action and voice would improve the language deprivation that consumes my small town. Failing, it killed my spirit. I mean really, really killed my spirit.

So I died. I lost my spirit. (Again.)

Temporarily. I’ve processed the actions, the loss, the anger (through writing) and am rebounding enough to dig my French loving bones from the grave to restructure them in a different format.

Les Catacombes de Paris

Les Catacombes de Paris

I’m truly remorseful that the students lost an opportunity to learn the language that has brought meaning and purpose to my life with a bounty of friendships, experiences, travel, a minute amount of work, and a quality of life I otherwise would not experience. I’m humbled to be The One to advocate its benefits.

As I dig through the bones of loss, rather than seeing myself as a failure, I see myself as a brave, brave (maybe stupidly so) soul. It took a lot of conviction, stamina, and effort to be drug through the trenches. But here I am, mostly intact and upright, telling you about it. (I really appreciate you being here.)

A passion is a passion is a passion: my love for French hasn’t died. I lost a battle(s) but I still have my integrity, my wit, my humor, and my hard-wired love for anything and everything French.

My journey continues. Where I am going is uncertain, the distance unknown. I’ll bring a snack just in case.




3 thoughts on “Giving Death

  1. beholdtheinfinite says:

    Ugh. Good for you for trying. Your frustration comes through loud and clear — it’s awful to pour your heart and soul into something, only to realize all hour efforts went down the drain.

    P.S. Did you take the photo of the catacombs yourself? I recognized the Paris catacombs the instant I saw the picture, before I noticed the caption. It’s such a cool place! In a very eerie way, that is.


    • Barbie Beaton says:

      Thank you for commiserating. I didn’t take that photo. Thinking about it, I visited the Catacombes before digital cameras! My photos are hard copies.


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