Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my dad's death. I'm sitting here shaking my head. Already a year has passed.  In a conversation with a sibling, it was suggested the family lost three people a year ago. Dad to cancer, and two of our siblings to . . . I don't even know how to word it . . . bad behavior? misguided thinking? selfishness? disconnectedness? all of the above? Here we are now, a year later, and the silence has only deepened, at least between me and the two siblings. I won't speak for my other siblings who have been disappointed by these two. At this point, I keep returning to the "it is what it is" catch-all for difficult situations, and I find other things, pleasant and happy things, to focus on. Like the time Dad set the oven on fire (well, he didn't really do it; the turkey did it) while preparing our Thanksgiving feast. Lovely Beautiful Daughter was around 8 years old and walked into the kitchen, loudly exclaiming, "Papaw! The ove...

Two weeks ago today, the website for my work was the victim of a cyber attack. That attack came right at midterm and at a time when students were already feeling incredibly overwhelmed. Not being able to get into the site to complete work and to communicate with their instructors sent some students into a tailspin. While our fantastic IT people were able to get some components of the site up and running last week, the damage had already been done. About half of my students in two classes are MIA. I've been posting announcements, trying to entice them to return to class, but so far, I've only heard from three or four. They'll be back, they say. I hope so. 2020 just keeps piling on. I learned ten minutes ago a colleague passed away yesterday. He was the same age I am. 56. Earlier this semester, a member of our Board of Trustees passed away. He was 57. Seems far too young. I know, though, living to see tomorrow is never a given. For anyone. Still . . . Now I'm finding myse...

Death-defying Alpha Meet Alpha. Who, two years after the very tragic deaths of Frank and Andy the goldfish, now resides in the bowl that was their home. Who last Friday was, for all intents and purposes, knocking on Death's door himself (after only a week of being in his new home!). Lying sideways on the bottom of the bowl. Very obviously gasping his last breaths. My colleagues saying, "Ummm, yeah. He's not long for this world." But I wasn't about to give up on him. No. Not this time. Not Alpha. So I put warm water in a smaller container and transferred Alpha to it. I put food in the container. You know, just in case he made it and was hungry. I set him on the heater in a colleague's office. And we left campus for the weekend, all of us thinking we would return on Monday to face a sad scene. Monday morning, my colleague came to me when I arrived to work, and said, "Alpha lives!" Stunned, I followed her to her office. I peered into the contain...

Three years ago this morning, the phone rang just after 4 am, and I knew it was the call we'd been waiting for. The one telling us Mom had slipped away, leaving this world for the next. I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, talking with my sister and being sad but at the same time feeling some solace in knowing Mom was no longer suffering. I still get sad at times when I think about her, the sadness more over how her body became her enemy during the last 20 or so years of her life. I hope my body and I don't ever become enemies, and it is because of this hope that I decided how I was going to spend my day today, in memory of her. Initially I thought about getting a sky lantern and writing a message on it to send up to the heavens. Then I thought about getting a floating lantern to send out onto the lake. Each of those ideas, though, just weren't dazzling me, even when I had both in the cart and was ready to hit the Buy button. Since the dazzle factor was nonexistent,...

  I can't believe a year has slipped by since Mom left this world. When I woke up at 5:21, one of my first thoughts was how a year ago today, at 4:07 am, my cell phone rang. I knew it was my sister. I knew she was going to tell me Mom had passed away. The days that have made up the year since that early morning call have all contained one constant: loss. In the wake of my loss, my family's loss, one positive happened: a sense of purpose. What started with a bike ride across the US to raise funds for MS research has turned into a desire to continue raising awareness of what MS is and to advocate for those living with MS. How this happens is yet undetermined. I'm hoping during 2013, the answer to the question of how? comes to light. I'm not sure what my next move will be. While I dream of having the women's specific bike shop, I haven't proceeded with the business plan because Negative Voice in my head keeps insisting I'll never get financial assista...

How do you write about someone slipping into death? Losing her battle against a foe she could never see but knew was there nonetheless? How do you write about all the fears she voiced? Her worst that of being alone when the time finally arrived? How do you write about the pain she experienced? So intense she curled into a ball and bit her fingers? How do you write about her sadness at not being able to smile any longer? So deep her eyes shone with what little tears remained? How do you write about her strength slowly draining away? Mustering all her energy to nod when asked if she knew she is loved? How do you write about mere seconds of recognition registering in her brown eyes? Fleeting but hopefully giving her solace knowing family was there? How do you write about a family gathered to say goodbye to a loved one slipping into death? Elizabeth Ellen Heath Pauken, December 28, 1934 -- December 21, 2011, you are much loved and will be greatly missed.

Around this time two years ago, I was bouncing down the stairs to join my family in the kitchen for breakfast, before taking off for work, when my daughter asked me if I remembered a young man I had met once before, at the Day of Writing event held on campus. I said of course I remember him; he was one of four high school students I worked with, and of the four, he was the one I knew was going to go somewhere someday, be something someday. I had gone home that afternoon following the Day of Writing and told my daughter about this young man. She knew him from school, and yes, he was intense. I told her I thought this young man was brilliant. She'd laughed at this when I said it, but this particular morning, when she asked me if I remembered him, she wasn't laughing. She wasn't smiling. He killed himself, she told me. I cried for most of the drive to work, wondering why. Why did this young man end his life? Why did he feel like it was the only way out? Why didn't he rea...