Maybe...

Maybe it is the time of year.
All the holidays and memories.
Or lack there of.

Maybe it is the fact I drove to Miami.
By myself.

Maybe it is job stress.
Friend stress.
Wedding stress.
Second job stress.

But you have been on my mind.
I love looking at old pictures of you.
The ones of you before I met you.
Of you as a child.

Driving to work this week, I had disbelief battles again.
You didn't really die.
Just can't be real.
I saw you die but it just cannot have happened.
To you.
To me.
To us.
To everything.

I so miss you.
I wish I could talk to you.
I wish I could hear your voice.

Grief Monster Winter 2011

I do not even know where to start.

I do not want to even go into everything.

So I won't.

But as I posted on facebook this morning, the grief monster has been back.

Now, this time he did not come alone.

He brought big scary accomplices like Paranoia.

During my life, I have said goodbye many times.

When in elementary school, pretty much the moment I considered someone my best friend, they'd move.

It happened over and over again. 

It almost felt like a guarantee.  

While consulting, it was pretty much a way of life.

I would spend six to eight months living in a city Monday through Thursday.

Only to be moved to a completely new location with new team, new clients, and new city.

It was fun to say the least but it was always sad to leave and say the dreaded goodbye.

Yes, people would say, "We'll keep in touch."

But for most, it was just another required statement with no backing.

So I learned to live in the moment.

I learned to almost keep myself at a distance.

I learned to say goodbye easily.

In 2005, I decided I was done with that non-static lifestyle.

I wanted real relationships.

I wanted a semi-normal routine.

I wanted a home and community.

So I moved back to Orlando.

One of my favorite cities to be in.

Three weeks ago grief and his friends made me scared and stressed.

Two weeks ago he made me paranoid about people I called friends shaking some of the very foundations of me.

And then last week made me nauseous with the loss of friendships.

A different sort of grief but similar feelings nonetheless.

Grief tried to make me doubt myself.

It dug deep into old wounds to reach fresh blood.  

In the last week or so, I have had trumpeters telling me all the positive things I am.

I am thankful for those who believe in me.

Thankful for those new and old friendships who have and are trying to defeat the voices of grief, paranoia, and non-truths.  

I will prevail.

I will be better for it all.
I will say goodbye.

And when the dust settles I will know the truth.

Never Ever

Never ever put me in a black box.
Never in a long black car.
Never ever ever buried underground.
I just cannot stand the thought.

Put me in the ocean.
Spread me over the land.
Keep me free.

September 11th

This post has been in my head for a while but time, energy, etc.

It has been (over) ten years since that day.

I did not lose someone specifically.

I did not even live in NYC at the time.

But of course I will never forget.

Who can.

When I moved to New York City in June 2002, it was one of the first places I visited.

After work one day, I walked thirty blocks to see it.

And I cried.

It was turning into a place people could and would make money.

T-shirts. Books. Photos. Food carts.

It was disgusting.

But over the last ten days or so, that is not what made me cry.

I am not super patriotic.

I do not believe this is the best country in the world.

Far from it.

Lots of places I have been are pretty awesome.

I almost moved to Sweden at one point.

But everywhere I went people talked about the men and women who sacrificed their life that day.

At the UCF football game, (almost) everyone wore a red banana in honor of one such man.  

At school, the firefighters and police were mentioned.  

On TV.

Radio.

Everywhere.

How people died so others could live.

And I know Roger did not decidedly die for me.

And I know he did not "save me" in the car accident. 

But he did.

In ways.

He gave me family that I had not experienced since I was a little girl.

He gave me the opportunity to meet my goal to finishing my degree.

A job that I am adoring.

A community, finally after searching for years.

And a believe that marriage could be a good thing.

Sigh... And I thought September would be easier.

How to be Happy

At my old job, I worked with this lady that would have me in stitches.
She has a good ol' Southern Tennessee twang.
She would tell it as it is.
And she would be funny about it.

Way before I met her though.
Probably 10-15 years before I met her.
She lost her son.
A small child.
To cancer.

And I remember watching her.
Feeling so sorry for her.
How can she be happy?
How can she crack jokes?
How can she smile at other children?
Just how?

But now I get it.
You never forget.
And I am sure there are days.
And moments.
And maybe even months.
But the loss scars over eventually.

For some reason, September has been harder than I imagined.
But there are days were the loss is just a scar.
And I can smile, crack jokes, and be happy.

Where is the switch?

I just wish there was a switch.
An on/off switch.
It has been stuck on for so long.
I wish I could stop missing you.
Just to take a break.
Just for a moment.
It is taxing.
It is emotionally expensive.

At least it is September.

Happy

Teaching is hard.
So very hard to deal with so many personalities and needs.
And exhausting.
And killing my feet and hamstrings.
And teaching, as many know, does not pay well.
Yes, we have summers off but we do not get paid for summer.
Nor do we get paid more than 7.5 hours per day.
I do not know any teacher who only works 7.5 hours per day.
I do not understand how you could only work 7.5 hours per day.
I am working ten to twelve hours a day and at least five or six over the weekend.
I spent two weeks before school even started with help cleaning and organizing my room without pay.
Some nights I do not sleep as I find myself trying to run through the day.

But here is the amazing thing.
Truly amazing.
I am enjoying myself.
I am happy.
I love the other teachers I work with.
My principal is so kind as well as the other administration.
The students are mostly good kids.

I feel part of something bigger.
Like I am making a difference.

I look around my classroom and think:
"This is my classroom. These are my students."

And I got a wonderful compliment.
Someone asked/commented "You are a new teacher?"
"You really know what you are doing."
And for the most part, I do feel like I am doing well.