Category Archives: Loss

Leo the Cockatiel

Leo came to live with us twenty-one years ago plus. A birthday gift for Adam, he named him Leonardo, like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ Leonardo, but we always called him Leo. A young cockatiel, his coloring was mostly grey, and we didn’t know if he was male or female. Over time, he took on the typical grey body with white stripes on his wings and yellow head with bright orange dots on his cheeks of the male bird. His vocalizations also confirmed him as male: he always had something to “say.”

For the first few years we had Leo, Adam spent more time with him, but the cage was always in a commons area where he could interact with the family. As Adam grew and his interests took him away from home more, Leo spent more time with Chuck, my husband at the time, and me. Cage-cleaning duty ended up mine more often than not, and there were many years when his cage wasn’t cleaned as regularly as it should have been. We occasionally let him out of the cage, including letting him crawl on us and fly around the house, but we had to watch him closely so he didn’t fly into a window and crash to the ground or land in an open toilet. As he grew older, he ventured out less and less, and over the last 10 or so years, we would open the cage, and he would climb out and investigate the cage only to return minutes later to the comfort of the known.

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Leo was a cantankerous bird, and few people held him. I held him the most because I was responsible for cleaning his cage and because I talked to him the most. He tolerated my attention, but he always squawked and struggled to get away. Once calmed down, he would snuggle into me and peck at my skin or clothes, just tasting really. He never became a physically affectionate bird, but he had some very quirky ways of showing us that he was part of the family.

One of Leo’s quirky behaviors was his always-raucous welcome home. When we were away, he would go into a verbal scolding when we returned, and it seemed to be more vigorous the longer we’d been away. He tweeted loudly and repeatedly, making sure we knew that we had been missed. When we’d been away a long time, I always felt bad for having left him. It was easy to provide enough food and water for days, but the company and interaction was something he missed, and I knew it. If we were going to be gone for more than a couple days, I’d always ask a friend or neighbor to come look in on him. “Check his water,” I’d ask, “and his food? And…would you talk to him?” I would get a look of bewilderment at first and then incredulousness, like “you’re serious??” I felt more guilty about leaving him for days than I felt embarrassed about asking my neighbors to come talk to my bird; I had that, at least, going for me.

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In addition to welcome home, he would tweet when we rose in the mornings and at other random times of the day. Early on, he learned to wolf –whistle, and that was one of his favorite tweets. It charmed visitors and lifted my spirits on days when I was feeling less-than-attractive. At some point early on, he took up an unusual behavior: he would position himself on a perch or on the side of the cage, turn himself upside down, spread his wings wide and flap furiously. We were delighted with it and called him “beautiful.” Eventually, it was a trick he would perform on command, and it was one of our favorite things he did up until about four or five years ago. That was when age began taking its toll.

Leo also had a lover…a small mirror attached to the side of his cage. He pecked at it, fed it food, preened, talked, and became agitated if I removed the mirror to clean it. It made me happy he had a friend, and one day, I noticed his strange gyrations and vocalizations as he sat in front of his mirror. Turns out his “friend” was one with benefits. I’m not sure where it came from, but we explained it to our friends as “Leo masticates.” Well, yeah, it’s a thing; ask a vet.

After we built our new house in Clyde Park, we noticed that Leo and Basco, our Chihuahua, had some kind of secret communication: when people would come to visit, Leo somehow knew before anyone else did, and he would start squawking. Basco recognized the sound as “someone’s here!” and he would run to the door barking. We were mystified how he knew when we didn’t even know; was he psychic? One day, I was in the office with him when he began his alarm, and I noticed a reflection in the glass of a cabinet directly across the room from him, which perfectly reflected the window from the breakfast bar that looked out to our backyard. Basco joined him in the fray, and sure enough, someone was walking to the door: mystery solved. That became something they shared; they always announced visitors, our own “green” alarm system.

Adam went to college in 2005, and Leo became my permanent pal. A couple years ago, Chuck and I divorced, and my beloved dogs, Rosie and Lance, left with him. It was Leo and me. Every day, without fail, he welcomed me in the morning and when I returned at the end of the day. When I left each day, I’d remind him to be a good bird, give him a Ritz cracker, and tell him what time I expected to be home. I’d leave a radio on for company. When I’d return, he’d make a fuss, a lovely welcome home. At night before bed, I’d cover his cage and say, “Goodnight, Leo. See us in the mornin’ mornin'” and in the morning uncover him and say, “Good morning, Leo.”

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When I told people how old Leo was, they were surprised. He was twenty-two, and he hadn’t been “beautiful” in years. Neither had I seen him “masticate” for a long time although he still had his longtime lover. I knew his days were numbered, but knowing something and living it are two different things.

Mark helped me bury him and let me cry on his shoulder. He brought me flowers, which sit in the gaping hole where Leo’s “house” used to be. My mornings are very quiet, and my homecomings are silent, a very loud silent. Once again, I’m reminded that the price of love is great.

SOT (State of the Teacher Address)

Lately, I’ve had a bit of writer’s block going on, and the more one worries about writer’s block, the worse it gets. “I haven’t written in months…how can I be a good model if I can’t put a couple sentences together?” These are the thoughts I’ve entertained most days for at least several weeks in a row. So, here I am, preparing my State of the Teacher Address, and wondering how I’ll navigate this treacherous territory.

I’ve noticed that most click-bait blogs today have “? Number of things you should do, know, whatever, if you’re this…” I don’t know: it draws me in because there’s a limit, I guess. So here goes:

Ten things you should do when addressing the throngs of adoring students and other random readers (yeah, I’m talking to you, Brazil) who haphazardly end up on Karenhendersonblog.com.

  1. First, realize that it’s been a while, and if this post is essentially lame, people will forgive you. After all, they’re not going to read it much longer anyway.
  2. Throw them a morsel of bait: my personal life is undergoing transition…I’m kind of lost right now.
  3. Tell them how important they are to you: Oh, god…you guys…is there any way I could possibly explain the emotional reward I get from working with students, day in and day out for several months at a time, knowing that you hate me with the fires of hell at midterm but at the end realize it was all for your own good, that I sacrificed my own social life to grade your papers and help you improve your communication skills, all in service to your overall achievement??
  4. Tell the truth: That is the truth. Really.
  5. Support it with evidence: I have the evidence; I have the data that show that our students go on to do amazing things, both at the university level and in the workplace. I helped make that possible. Students we’ve sent to Missoula tell me they were well-prepared for the rigors of university work, that they never once felt behind or under-prepared or “less than” their university peers. This isn’t only my efforts, but this is the efforts of my colleagues, good men and women who truly take their rewards from the successes of their students.
  6. More evidence: It happens nearly every day; someone tells me that something I said, something I did, something has inspired them to keep trying, keep working, keep striving. Sometimes it comes in messages from other students, like it did today, about comments overheard somewhere about how my influence, my presence in someone’s life was meaningful and made a difference. I never know when that sweet gem of love will descend on me, but it happens frequently enough that I know to be patient when things are mostly dark and complicated.
  7. Students love hearing about my personal life, my loves and my losses, especially my losses. They rally around like fans at a rock concert and give me dating advice, offering both X and Y chromosome insight. That love is almost enough…
  8. Remember, students, college life is temporary. It’s sweet—difficult at times—but this is a time in your lives you’ll never repeat. College is temporal; you’ll move on, join the real world, and this life will be a memory of stressful tests, annoying homework, strong social involvement, and intense relationships. The real world is somewhat different, which is why I’ve yet to join it.
  9. What you’re doing now matters, too. Often, people delay their own dreams and hopes and desires because they’re looking down the road. There’s nothing wrong with that—necessarily—but today, this minute and the minute that just passed…you’ll never get them back. They’re gone. How did you experience those minutes? Were they wasted in bitterness or barely acknowledged at all? Pay attention to the now.
  10. Know that I love you: you are more than my job; you are more than random faces moving through the semesters of my life (because I am a perennial college student who refuses to give up the life); you are real humans with names, faces, families, problems, hopes, dreams, and challenges, and no matter how many students will intersect my life, everyone of you leaves a piece of yourself behind with me, and each of you take a piece of me with you into your futures (don’t try to do the math; the DNA thing would be very complicated). This job is so challenging that no amount of money could really compensate me, but it is also so rewarding that nothing else will ever satisfy me.

Go into the world and do well, but more importantly, go into the world and do good, and make sure you come back some day and say hello.

Thankful Thanksgiving

It’s been an embarrassingly long time since I posted something here. I’m the writing teacher, should probably be a little more consistent in my posts…

In my defense, it’s been “one of those” semesters. Without belaboring the details, let me just say I’ve found renewed reasons to be thankful. Let’s get started.

It’s Thanksgiving, almost, in less than six hours. In the spirit of the season, I’ve been thinking about what I’m thankful for, and not surprisingly, the word “people” comes to mind. I am thankful for my family. Like most families, we’ve had our differences over the years, and very often, I feel kind of “out of the loop.” I’m that relative, the one who lives away, the one who’s always been different, the one that no one understands. I get that. I don’t understand myself, so it’s all good. Nevertheless, my sisters are solid supporters and my mom is, well, my mom. Moms never give up on their kids. We had a great time this summer when my mom visited me in Montana City, and one year after my dad’s death, all of us are starting to recalibrate our lives.

Other family…my cousins, I think I’m the luckiest woman in the world when it came to DNA relatives. I get so much love and support from people who are related to me only by a parent…and I never, ever, take that for granted. I’ll call them out: Paula, Lisa, Susan, Joselle, Gayle, Nikki, and Jamie. Jamie, more than any other person, saw me through the pain of the last year, not only supporting me but sometimes calling me on my shit, saying, “Karen…what’s the truth here?” These women are truly selfless and loving and…family.

These people are the foundation of my life, the ones who allow me to have any sense of who I am. However, none of these people live and interact with me daily. Let me mention Mark. We met online in May, both of us a little nervous about another round with love, but we connected with our mutual love for the outdoors. We both have histories, stuff in our lives we’d rather not revisit. We both have sons, which gives us something in common other than our love for hiking and kayaking. We both have jobs that interfere with being together. This is the reality, but we’ve had fun together and enjoy each other, and so far, things are working pretty well. My mom thinks he’s nice because he sends her snapchats frequently. I’m happy my mom likes him.

Then there’s my work: this is where I get most of my sense of self, my confidence, my joy, my motivation. Without my work, I’d not know who I am or what I should try to accomplish. It seems kind of wild considering I didn’t start this gig until ten years ago…and then it was only part-time as a graduate student. This year, especially, I’ve seen the rewards of years of growth, from that insecure, uncertain English teacher in 2007 (which, by the way, my journal confirms was a conflicted, confused individual), to the relatively secure, sure English teacher of 2017. Maybe knowing what one doesn’t know is the key. When I mention my work, what I’m really focusing on is my students. They know who they are: we had a semester that should never happen. We were attacked in a way that is unconscionable, unbelievable, unfair. There were others involved, too, who suffered the effects of being subjected to scrutiny only because of their association with us, and yet we prevailed. And no matter any legal outcome or any professional scrutiny, I know…with 100% certainty…that I have made a difference in the lives of people who are not as “connected” [as if I am] or as well off, or as educated as I have been. I have helped to empower the next generation of people who will continue to question those in power, those with the authority, earned or not. And, oh, by the way, my students in writing are doing amazing, academic, smart, powerful work, and to think that I have had the privilege of inspiring that kind of scholarship…it just does not get any better.

Thank you, universe, or whomever is in charge. On Thanksgiving Day, I’m very grateful.

Checking In: Fall 2017

We just passed the midterm of the semester, and I’ve written here exactly once since school began. “Where have you been, Henderson?” would not be an inappropriate question, and I do have some pretty good answers.

First, for much of the fall semester, I was a member of the hiring committee for the President of the University of Montana; an honor beyond my status in most ways, I was fortunate enough to represent Helena College in the process. I can say with complete confidence, I’m excited about our new President, Seth Bodnar. I think he’s going to bring a lot to the university and a diversity of thought that we need. I can’t wait for him to take over, and I know a lot of people feel that way.

Secondly, I’ve been in Missoula for not only meetings of the committee but also for football games! Mark is a Grizzly fan from way back and holds season tickets. As a hanger-on, I get to attend the home games when he’s going, which has been most of the time. I think we’ve missed one. It’s been fun; I’d never been to a live college football game before, having been a nontraditional, studies-focused student when I attended MSU and not one who made football a priority, except when Adam played in high school.

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Speaking of Adam, we met up a couple times this semester in Missoula, and I got to meet my grand-dog, Virgil, who has been challenging Adam in his parenting skills and patience. He’s a cute little guy, though—Virgil, that is—and reminded me why babies are so cute: otherwise, they’d never live to the teen years, and by then we’ve invested so much into them that we have to see it all play out.

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I also met up with my bestie, June, one time when I was there for committee meetings. She proudly showed me that I have been elevated to the status of having my photo on her mantle, not an insignificant feat, and I had to take a picture—of our picture—to prove it. We had a great visit and since had many phone conversations about school, work, families, and boyfriends, real and imagined.

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It won’t surprise anyone to know I’ve been working a lot, too. Work involves a variety of facets, above and beyond daily classroom activities. My clubs, specifically, demand a lot of my time and energy but also motivate and energize me by our accomplishments. The Helena Helm published its fourth and fifth editions this fall (sixth edition coming next week, God willing and the creeks don’t rise), and its FIRST EVER print edition the beginning of October. Considering that we started out with a ragtag group of journalist-wannabes (including and especially me!) who had no idea where to begin, to now having both online and print editions of quality news and entertainment and the collaboration of the Helena College Tech Club, which is helping us set up a new web-presence and domain, I think we have made amazing progress, and I could not be prouder of the students behind it. Joy, our editor, was also the inspiration behind the newspaper, but we’ve got some new blood this year who promise to add intrigue and levity to our otherwise scholarly publication. Here’s our new site:

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TRIO Club S2S has already accomplished a significant amount of work this fall. We partnered with the Helena College Psych/Soc Club for the NAMI Walk and had good fun doing it. We have several projects we’re working on for the future, including the first ever CAT/GRIZ Face-Off on November 18th. A family-friendly event, it will be an alcohol-free (hey, you can’t have everything!) event on the Helena College campus, open to faculty, staff, students, families, and friends of Helena College. Potluck will be the menu, with TRIO S2S providing dessert and drinks and featuring our “world-famous” photo booth, complete with swag generously donated by the MSU and UM Alumni Associations. During the event (and prior to, for a few weeks), we will also hold a food-drive for the Helena Food Bank, placing bins around campus for food donations dedicated to a specific team. No matter who wins the game, the winner of the food drive will retain bragging rights on HC campus, and the ultimate winner will be Helena Food Bank and those who need food donations during the Thanksgiving season.

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TRIO S2S has another event in the coming weeks: a dedication of our memorial trees (one on each campus) to students who’ve attended Helena College and died during or soon after they left the college. In my five and a half, almost six years, I know of at least six students who’ve been in my classes at some point (two of them at the time of their deaths) who have died. Last fall, with the death of Joe, I asked TRIO S2S to take on some kind of memorial for those students, and they did. It was not a project without challenges and obstacles, sometimes daunting ones, but through persistence, resilience, and determination, we managed to plant two trees and order two very heavy bronze plaques (“these will last 200 hundred years!” said the man at Crown Trophy) dedicated to the memory of students we’ve lost. Wherever I go, whatever I do in the future, this is something meaningful, tangible, honest, and important that I had a hand in. Doesn’t get much better than that.

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The rest of the semester is likely to whiz by just like the first part has. Next week will offer up some difficult memories for me from last year, as we will mark one year since my dad has passed and nearly one year since I began a new life as an unmarried woman. I’m optimistic that 2018 will be a good year, and I’m fairly confident that I will be busy. There’s that. 😊

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And So It Begins…

Students in Writ 095 are currently working on their blogs. The first assignment is an “About Me” piece. Simple, right? Maybe not. “Pay attention to length,” said I, “and grammar and mechanics matter. This is a writing class, after all…”

What about you, Teach? (Spoken in a true, Vinnie Barbarino accent…look it up, you young’uns). Yeah, so I have been teaching at Helena College for five and a half years now, was tenured this last May, and plan to die in my heels. In other words, I’m pretty sure this is my last professional stop, despite my young age…and I have no plans to permanently retire. At some point, I’ll cut back to 3/4 time or part time…but teaching runs through my blood as much as merlot. Not gonna get loose of me in the immediate future.

So, teaching, English, writing, literature, learning, all these are some of my priorities in life. Student success is my biggest celebration, and I would not quit teaching if I were rich, but I’d like to try rich for a while…

I live alone, but I do have a cockatiel who’s my companion. His name is Leo, short for Leonardo, and he and I have weathered 20 plus years together. I have a son who’s 30 years old, and an ex-husband who I don’t write about but who was an important part of 25-plus years of my life. My other passions are hiking, kayaking, music, reading, and teaching, not in that order.

Fall semester 2017 is a new experience for me: it’s the first fall semester, ever, that I’ve entered college with the status of “single.” It’s the first fall semester that I’ve entered college without my dad. It’s not that my dad was especially critical to my teaching, but he was critical to my sense of self: I always had a mom and dad (lucky, I know). He died last October 31st. Every day since then has been, “the first _____ since Dad died.” November 1st will change that, but October 31st will be a tough day for me to survive.

You want to know “about me”? I was a mediocre high school student who grew into a pretty darn smart mom, who became a really smart college student who excelled, who became a competent, committed, caring college teacher, who lives her life to the best of her abilities without regret. Let’s get to work.

Fall Semester 2017

I know people who love fall (Gina!), and though it’s not my favorite season (summer!), it ranks as number two for me. As we move through August, into September, we are in that season between seasons. Wasps remind us that winter is coming and will kill all those annoying insects for a few months’ reprieve. Trees begin to turn, the tops usually start first, just a few golden leaves then gradually more. The mornings…have you noticed? This morning was unusually cool, close to 50 degrees when I rose, too cool to run in my usual tank top; I wore sleeves. No one in western Montana can escape the smoke right now, which is also an indication of fall, at least over the last several years. And if you’re a teacher…well, you’re only too aware that summer is coming to an end. One of the first questions I get from teacher-friends is “are you ready?” It’s a silly question; I’m not ready and never will be, but this fall, for me, is different.

My dad’s birthday was September 1st; this is the first one since I’ve been alive that he won’t be. If you’ve lost a parent or someone very close to you, you understand the “firsts” that occur throughout the year that follows the loss. This is the first birthday; in June was the first Father’s Day. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Day, my sisters’ and my birthdays, Mother’s Day, their anniversary, all of those passed during this first year, too. This year will be the first Halloween, the day he died, one year ago. My sister, Terri, always loved Halloween more than almost any holiday. I wonder how she’ll experience this coming one.

It seems cliché; my relationship with my father was strained, and now I regret that. Of course, I do. That’s how it works, and I’m not special. Many people before me have experienced the same thing, which is why it’s cliché. We like to believe we’re an evolved species, but I wonder about that. Even when we know better, we continue to make the same mistakes. It’s a form of hubris, I think, a very common human foible. Each of us believes we are the exception somehow.

I enter the fall semester of 2017 with trepidation. Last fall was one of my worst, personally, and one my best, professionally. I hate to think that one precludes the other, but it seemed to work that way. Aside from the fact that my dad is gone, I enter fall semester as an unmarried woman, the first time in twenty-four years. Nearly all of my personal relationships have undergone significant change; some didn’t survive my divorce, some resulted from my divorce, and some are still in transition. In many ways, I’m a different woman than the one who returned to campus for convocation 2016. I hope I’m not hardened; I hope I’m still the Pollyanna optimist I’ve always been, but I’m not sure…

I struggled after Dad died, and the memorial ceremony was one of my worst experiences. My marriage was crumbling, my dad had died unexpectedly, and emotionally, I was a wreck. I survived it, but that was all. Since I don’t live close, I was not there when his cremains were installed in the cemetery, and though I’d been to Billings several times, I never stopped at the cemetery. I thought about it; I wanted to, but I didn’t, until Sunday.

Mark and I went to Billings for a party to celebrate my sister Julie’s new firepit. I told him before we left that I wanted to stop in Laurel and see my dad’s final resting place. On the way home, I got involved in a phone call and forgot my plans (I wonder…), but Mark didn’t. He turned off in Laurel and found his way to the cemetery where we located my dad. It was August 6th, so nine months plus after he’d died. I guess that’s how long it took me to be ready, and I’m not going to apologize for that. To whom would I apologize anyway? Like many other examples I could conjure, I’m frequently late in my ability to make sense of things; I’m a pretty smart person, but sometimes it takes me a while to process.

A few years ago, my dad started playing on the internet. Soon, he discovered memes and “fake news,” which annoyed the living hell out of me. Political opposites, I finally told him to stop sending me that shit, which to his credit, he did. Occasionally, he’d send me something he thought I’d enjoy, and one email message he sent me remains in my “inbox,” and I revisit it from time to time. It’s incredibly emotional for me because I love Andre’ Rieu, I love strings, I love this song, and I loved my dad. See if you can get through it without tears; I can’t. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1yfX6VnrSU

Fall semester 2017 is coming, like it or not. I guess I need to get ready.

The End

Tomorrow is a new beginning; that means that today was an end. I feel like this whole past year has been one succession of ends in my life, and frankly, I’m over it.

Trigger Warning! (for Brad or any of the students from my honors class—they’re a sensitive bunch—there will likely be some very bad language in this post, so if you’re easily triggered, you might want to skip this…)

Today, I sat through several hours of an end-of-semester planning meeting for our 5-year strategic plan. Yeah, so you know what that was like. However, I tried to pay attention, and a couple things really stood out to me. For example, we were reminded that the brain has basically two regions: one is the decision-making part, and one is the language, or emotional, part. Wanna guess which part dominates my life? I don’t know why it was a eureka moment for me. It makes perfect sense. I love language and everything related, and I am completely dominated by my emotions, to the point that rational judgment is often impaired.

We did some good work today, but I was distracted by the fact that there are so many ends in my life now. The end of the semester is a good thing, but it’s also a time of reflection. People who work in education get to do that twice a year, once at the end of the calendar year and again at the end of the academic year, and I was thinking about the past year and wishing I had done it better and wishing it wasn’t the end.

I’m coming off a very good year, professionally. It seemed like I had the Midas Touch though my pal Nathan said it was due to the year of the “Hen”derson (the Chinese year of the Rooster). I had great students, as always, and my special courses, Creative Writing and Ways of Knowing were innovative and successful; The Rocket!!! This is still incomplete as of this writing, but by all accounts, The Rocket project will go down in history at Helena College, and my name will be attached to it; TENURE!! Yes, friends! It was officially announced yesterday, so I feel confident in announcing that I have received tenure and will spend the rest of my working life at Helena College (unless the President needs a new press secretary, which could happen…).

Let me add the new clubs that so kindly asked me to advise them: TRiO Students 2 Scholars and Newspaper Club, the Helena Helm. These students made me look like a rock star this year. Everyone is talking about the successes of TRiO S2S and the first-ever student newspaper, and I was the lucky person they asked to put the oky-doky on the slip. Just wait though…this is NOT the end of these guys. TRiO S2S is still working on memorial trees and is going into the fall semester with a full leadership team on board. They recruited successfully and have been pioneers in club organization within a two-year college. Plans are in place for a fun run in the fall and a huge orientation presence, along with sponsoring the Rocket book, currently in the making. The Helena Helm plans to be in place to record all the good works of all the clubs beginning early in August and has also highlighted some of our faculty and staff who really deserve some credit (Helenahelm.blogspot.com). It really did seem, at times, as if I could not make a bad move professionally. Never fear…I very competently managed that personally.

How someone can be so successful professionally and so unsuccessful personally is something that Bill Clinton and I apparently share. My personal life, over the past year, has been a succession of ends: the end of my marriage (and because my ex-husband is reading this and will object to my pandering, let me just say it was all my fault), the end of my relationship with my dad (at least my ability to impact that relationship at all), the end of my long stint as a dog-mama (I miss my Lancelot more than I can bear to think about at times), and the end of Karen as I knew her, before.

I lost friends from my former life, people who somehow had to “choose” a side; I lost people I considered family because they, too, had to choose, and I wasn’t really family; I lost some self-respect because I wasn’t able to be the person, the teacher, the friend, the woman that I know I should be. Despite the fact that I initiated our divorce, I lost myself in the process; the past year is a blur of just moving forward because I had to.

More than anything, as I come off a very successful year professionally, I wish I had been a better teacher. I wonder how good I could have been if I would have been “on.” I think about the times I went to class on two hours of sleep…how inept I must have been to facilitate discussions. I think about how distracted I was, really, all year, how my emotional state detracted from my ability to foster learning. I’ve been fortunate to bask in the glow of the Rocket (and it really is an amazing project), to receive the accolades of the work the clubs have accomplished, to relish the feeling of earned (?) tenure, but today, when my beloved friend Tammy said to me during a pensive moment, “A Penny for your thoughts,” my response was one she surely did not expect: tears of regret bubbled up in my eyes: How I wish I’d done things differently, and I wish this wasn’t the end.

Oh yeah, the trigger warning? Fuck.