Every Sept 2, I have little truthfully to bring to the day but regret. I have good memories, certainly. All "they can't take away." But my life hasn't grown, except in the ways it always does -- the relationships with my cats. This year I have some stronger human friendships, some strong internet friendships and some new live friendships. I have wizened a bit to the ways of friends she had long ago wanted me to cut off from. I'm finally talking with her daughter which means a lot to me, though I don't know how long she will want to speak with me as, the more I remember, the more mistakes I remember making, some of them critical. I remember Karen going to a fortune teller who predicted her being in danger at night and then her calling me and telling me she was coming home at night and my not saying anything the night she died. But I took no stock in fortune tellers -- I was as smugly Western then as one could be. I'm not sure I had even remembered the fortune teller that night. But Karen did, I'm certain. She took tremendous interest in what they told her. Why this took me so long to put together, I don't know. I remembered having premonitions about night and not wanting her to fly at night. I remember not being able to tell her because I didn't want to second guess her in any way. But, her telling me and telling me angrily -- was she angry because I made her check in with me or angry because she was looking for the right response. I have always felt responsible.
I always come to this day with more and more regret, uncertainty and maybe some personal growth. I'm grateful for those who trust in me, especially those who are new and those who have come back after long absences. Those who are tireless in their fur. Those who want to understand even when they can't. I can't say it is only losing Karen that has made it so hard. Not having her to face the changes in the DOE is also hard. The changes themselves have torn at me. It's not a question of how to teach, but just how to let oneself teach without being consumed with worry about the future.
What I want is a time machine. Take me back to 2004. Summer. August. Whisper in my ear the phrase "build a life with her."
I'd be ever so grateful.
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