I have been teaching elementary school for 23 years. I’ve spent time in fifth grade, third grade, second grade and kindergarten.

I have taken all of my very important duties, responsibilities, and the little incidentals of teaching very, very seriously. I have tried so very hard to stay true to my academic charge, while always remembering to weave through it a touch of humanity, humility, humor, kindness and love. It’s a juggling act, and one that requires a sure eye, a cool hand and a true heart.

I’ve also discovered over the course of time, that the fine art of a comfortable conversation is the best tool a teacher can carry in his or her teacher bag. I’ve had thousands of conversations over these past two decades that have spanned one side of the human emotion spectrum to the other.

I’ve learned to keep my cool when discussing the human body, and all the various topics that might pop up in conversations spanning various grades. I’ve practiced certain words in front of mirrors, and my own children. (They are not shocked by anything, anymore. I like to think I did them a favor.) I’ve talked about personal hygiene, friendship issues, divorce, the falling of the twin towers, terrorism, politics, war,

love, empathy, germs, why there’s no kissing on the playground, dead guinea pigs, why melting crayons might catch on fire and what to do in the event of a fire.

But this week there was none of that. This week we spoke of what no parent wants to imagine; we spoke of the death of someone’s child. This child was 32 years old; the number means nothing, the fact that he was someone’s child means everything.

Our beloved classroom paraprofessional received the knock on the door in the middle of the night — the one that we all pray will never come, but deep in the dark recesses of our heart we know might. The knock that breaks your heart, changes your life and that reminds you that each day is a gift.

I emailed my classroom parents, and prepared for what would be an emotional discussion last Monday. I struggled with the words during our morning meeting and then I realized that there were many important discussions at the homes of the children the night before, and for that I was thankful. We talked about broken hearts, sadness, love, spirits and angels. And then, we worked on cards to try to help mend the broken heart of our dear friend. As the children worked, the conversation turned to heaven and spirits.

Channing turned to me and said, “I know what happens to your spirit, Mrs. Patrick. Your spirit takes all your rememberies, and flies with them up, up, up, right up to heaven.” We looked at each other, smiled, and continued our coloring.

At the end of the day, Gabi came up and looked at me quizzically. “Mrs. Patrick? Do you think the cards we made will glue Mrs. Gibboney’s heart back together?”

“Oh Gabi, I think that it was just the medicine that her heart needed. It will take a long time for it to come all the way back together, but I know that all of you will help it heal, one day at a time.”

“Good, cause I really miss her cookies!!”

I shooed her off, and watched the children run down the hall. I smiled with hope, for I knew from personal experience about the special healing powers that children possess. I’ve learned one important thing in these past 23 years, and it is that sometimes, sometimes it’s the children who wrap the teachers in love, and bring them back to life.

Debbie Patrick teaches kindergarten for the State College Area School District. Keep up with her classroom on her CDT blog “Notes from the Teacher” at www.centredaily.com.