On a touchscreen.

It’s quite late, but since I’ve been sick the last few days, my sleep schedule is all over the place.
I’ve just got some thoughts I’d like to put out there.

I’ve been offered an utterly fantastic job after this teaching gig is over. I’ll be working as a technical writer for a benefits company, and, while I may never have envisioned this being a job for me, the company is wonderful and their philosophies and ideals line right up with mine. Plus, one of my best friends works there and has very high standards for what makes a good job, so I’m really excited!
My mom said she’s a little sad that I’m so excited to be leaving teaching for a while. I understand why she feels that way. I feel that way too, a bit. But, I’m craving stability and comfort, and I need a strong paycheck. I’ve been teaching for almost exactly 18 months; I’ve never found stability. I’m ready for a change.

This Saturday, it will be four weeks since Grammy died. It feels so weird still. I think I’ve accepted that she’s gone, but I still can’t shake the feeling that I need to call her and tell her things. I want to sit in bed with her again and just hold her hand.
Oh, it’s weird.
I miss her voice so much. That’s the hardest part. I’ve got dozens of photos and trinkets by my side, but I can’t hear her voice.
I talk to her all the time though. When I’m driving and someone cuts me off, I laugh and tell her that I’ve become a better driver since we all went to Austin and I almost rear ended someone while being distracted by ponies.
I ask her for advice late at night, and I imagine what she’d say.
My therapist described it well. It feels like I’m standing on the beach, watching the waves come in. Sometimes, the tide is calm and hardly rattles me. Other times, it crashes into me and knocks me over. Eventually, she says, the waves will become more and more tranquil.

These last few years have been ridiculous. I’ve had some of the most profound moments of my life, and it’s almost always because of tragedy, crippling anxiety and depression, or feeling lost and confused. Those profound moments have really shaped me into this person I’m oddly proud of.
Go me.
I’m not so bad.

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One comment

  1. Sarah Z · February 20, 2015

    Kate,

    I felt the exact same way when my cousin died at such a young age. It’s a surreal thing to feel when someone so close is not here anymore. I wish my cousin a happy birthday every year. I make him a cupcake and a candle and blow it out for him. I miss him everyday but it gets better because I know he is always around me (ie: anytime I travel there is always a black town car or black limo driving next to me and those were his favorite cars). Hang in there, you have such a big support group. Life is short, make the best of it 🙂

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