is it the hope that kills you?

As I write this, I’m finishing my final day of summer school. The program flew by and I’m relieved. I made some extra money, spent time with Cymone, worked on some materials I needed for the first week back of my normal school year, and got motivated to exercise. I also successfully finished the first task for curriculum planning, and, with Lisa, created a detailed and helpful unit overview for Reconstruction. The other four members of our curriculum team worked on two remaining units. Two members finalized Westward Expansion and two members took on Gilded Age/Industrialization. These are the first three units of study, so it was imperative that we completed them before the start of the 2025-2026 school year. We then, should hopefully begin work on the next three units; this is where Lisa and I will tackle the Spanish American War and World War I. 

This week, I’ll also be getting ready for my brief trip to Texas. I leave next Monday and will enjoy a direct flight to Austin. My brother is all set for my arrival, and I’m glad I can say I am still going…my darling little cat, Ike, decided to scare his mama by getting sick. I came home from work last Monday and noticed that he was keeping to himself. He had also vomited. I thought nothing of it that day; he usually gets hairballs because of his long and thick black fur. The next day, though, he was still avoiding me and, to make things worse, he wasn’t eating. He didn’t come beg me for his dry Temptations dairy treats when I shook the bag or sit on the floor with his big green eyes pathetically begging me for his wet Churu treat. I decided to wait it out and see if he improved the next day. Ike only acted more lethargic on Wednesday, so I decided to call my vet. The vet, luckily, could see him on Thursday afternoon.

After my work day ended,  Ike and I headed to the vet. He was vocal about being put in his cat carrier and meowed the entire five minute drive to the office. You could see the anger and frustration on his face when the vet examined him; he refused to come out of the carrier for a little while. The vet drew blood, shaved off some of his matted fur, and attempted to get a urine sample. Ike, however, was not having it, and refused to urinate. Unfortunately, since he didn’t go to the bathroom during the appointment, it would be up to me to obtain the sample. I also received a topical steroid to apply on Ike’s ear; this would help stimulate his appetite. 

Ike, luckily, started to eat a little bit after the cream was applied. He drank water too. I decided to let him get some nourishment into his body before I began the process for the urine sample. The vet supplied me with a special litter that did not absorb the urine. I would be able to use a syringe to collect the urine and place it in a plastic medical tube. I only had a 12 hour window to get the urine and take it to the vet. It was also the weekend, so it would be easier for me to monitor him going to the bathroom. My goal was to take the urine sample to the vet first thing on Saturday morning. I figured, if I delayed it any further, I would not have enough time to get Ike’s diagnosis and therefore, need to postpone my travels so I could keep an eye on him. 

My issue was that his sister would use the box with the special litter, so, per my vet’s suggestion, I purchased a new litter box. I filled it with the special litter and placed it in my bathroom. Ike was directed by the vet to stay locked in my room, with access to the litter box, until he decided to relieve himself. Umm, easier said than done.

I was going to need to pull an all-nighter then, hoping he would pee, making sure the other cat didn’t try to find him, and timing it to where I could drop off the sample within that 12 hour window before the vet closed at 1 PM on Saturday. 

Ike, thank God, was tired and managed to sleep for most of the night. He knew where the litter box was if he needed to go. My anxiety over hoping he would go to the bathroom had me waking up every hour checking for any progress. By 2 AM, he still had not peed and was getting the zoomies…he kept scratching at my bedroom door to let him free. I ignored him and then begged him to go to the bathroom…as if talking to him would make him listen to me (but I was exhausted and running out of patience).

I fell asleep and woke to an alarm that sounded at 7 AM. Ike was awake too and scratching at the door again. I decided to let him free so he could try to eat breakfast. I grumbled to myself that I would never get the urine sample as I checked the box for the umpteenth time…

Only to see that Ike, my clever and sweet little Ike, had obeyed his mother’s orders. 

he’s fine, i swear.

I quickly siphoned the urine into the medical tubes, refrigerated them while I got dressed, and was at the vet right as they opened. My all-nighter had been a success. I spent the rest of my morning running errands and cleaning up the mess from his litter box in my bathroom. I took a glorious nap later that afternoon and spent the rest of the weekend recovering from my messed up sleep patterns. Summer school had me up at 5:30 AM every day, so I was tired enough from that early wake up time…my body was truly craving the sleep.

So much for a restful summer, but hey, at least I didn’t just sit and veg out every day. I was productive, spent time with my friends, visited with my family, exercised…and didn’t spend all day rotting away in my pajamas. I call that a success.

The vet called on Monday evening to confirm that there was nothing wrong with Ike…no UTIs, no infections…he got a clean bill of health and I am out $400, but at least my wee critter is healthy and I can go to Texas with the relief and knowledge that he is perfectly fine. If there are any lingering doubts about his health…well, the fact that he’s being mischievous and jumping on the “no-no” places (i.e. the kitchen counter) assuages those doubts for sure.

I can also go to Richmond this Saturday for a quick visit and tea time with Breanna. We had talked about going to Floris again before the summer ended for a tea, and she invited me to join her and her mother on the 26th. I was worried about Ike and told her I was a tentative “yes” but would let her know if that changed once I got Ike’s results back.  

Even though Ike is fine, I’m still going to make it a day trip. I’ll leave early-ish on Saturday and come back in the evening. I need some time to focus on packing for Texas, although that really shouldn’t take long since I’m not even staying a week. I’ll be home from Texas by next Friday, because by then, I need to get back into history teacher mode and start preparing for year eight. 

Year eight. I can’t believe so much time has passed since I began my teaching journey, amidst a global pandemic nonetheless. I keep reminding myself; if I could survive teaching during COVID, I can handle anything else that comes my way for the rest of my teaching career. I keep holding onto that hope that I can continue teaching…

But, as the Richmond FC football fans in Ted Lasso say:

It’s the hope that kills you.

Granted, we’re not talking about hoping a perpetually losing English football team will eventually win a trophy as what will “kill” me, but when I heard this quote during a recent Ted Lasso rewatch, this time, it stayed engraved in my mind.

Perhaps me holding onto hope is what’s “killing” me inside. Perhaps me, choosing to have hope in education…and that student (and parent) behaviors will improve the further away we get from the pandemic, is what is causing my mental state to decline. 

I remember I once had a colleague tell me that he noticed the joy and sparkle in my eyes had disappeared. This comment had been made when I went through a breakup, so it made sense that I was struggling and had lost any sense of optimism. This colleague, someone that I miss teaching with, was concerned about me, because I had always been the perpetually cheerful and perhaps, too optimistic, girl. That joy and sparkle came back, briefly, as I focused on myself and met the guy I am still (unfortunately) in love with, but ever since the pandemic…and ever since he left me, the joy and sparkle seem to have disappeared for good.

I feel like no matter what I do, or whom I’m with…when I try to find ways to find joy and sparkle…nothing works. Nothing changes how I feel. Hoping to lose some weight and feel healthier, hoping for true love, hoping for my anxiety and depression to lighten up, hoping for improvements in education…

Hoping for me to just be “me” again…

It’s killing me, mentally, every day. The joy and sparkle are just about extinguished from my eyes, this time, for good. 

Then…then I think about Ted’s response to that quote:

I believe in hope. I believe in ‘believe.’

No matter how crappy life was for Ted, despite his divorce and his own mental problems, he never stopped believing in hope. He believed in believing in others…and he believed in believing in himself. If you’ve never seen Ted Lasso, give it a watch, because at first glance, the show appears to be a comedy…and yes, for the most part, it is…

When the dramatic parts happen though? They don’t just tug at your heartstrings…no.

They break your heart.

So, thanks to this wonderful show, I now realize I have two choices:

I can let the hope kill me…

Or I can start my school year with Ted’s mindset.

Have some hope for me that I can be like Ted, okay?

Many happy returns!
-kate

P.S. Season Four of Ted Lasso went into production this week! Brett Goldstein, who produces and writes for Ted Lasso, while simultaneously playing my favorite character, the ever-grumpy footballer Roy Kent, posted a video to his Instagram (@mrbrettgoldstein) showing a brief “behind the scenes” of the new season. This is a still from the video with four of the main characters.

This news arrived after over a year of fans wondering if there would be another season, as Season Three was supposed to be the end of the series. Not anymore! Richmond ‘til we die!

we’re not in richmond anymore…

step outside, summertime's in bloom...

Hey y’all!

Happy (almost) July! Oh boy, this Oasis lyric/title inspiration from Don’t Look Back in Anger couldn’t be anymore accurate! This Virginia heatwave has been nasty and my allergies are suffering. My poor little Ike has been trying to keep cool amidst his coat of thick black fur, and I’ve brought out the shorts (although I hate how my legs look in them) for my own relief in this weather. 

This heatwave, however, means that I’m on summer break. It has finally arrived. Lucky year number seven has ended and I honestly still don’t know how I feel about this, even two weeks after we were dismissed for vacation. I enjoyed my school year content wise; I actually got to the end of my curriculum. I went from 1865 to as “modern” as I could possibly go; the kids learned about globalization, new technologies of the 1990s and, gasp, 2000s, as well as 9/11, during the final weeks of school! I attended some of the end of the year activities as well. 

feelin’ fancy at the formal!

I went to the 8th Grade Awards Night to especially support Lisa’s younger daughter who was being recognized, and then I helped Lisa with her National Junior Honor Society induction ceremony (she’s the sponsor). I got to witness many of my now-8th graders receive membership into this prestigious academic society. Lisa and I also attended the 8th Grade Formal Dance as we usually do. I got the chance to say goodbye to many of the 8th graders I taught the previous year throughout the final week of school. And, as tradition, all of the teachers went to the bus loop and waved off the students (with tears from most of us) as the buses rolled out for the final day of the school year. 

This was the end of year “lucky seven” for Lisa and I!

My students that I ended the year with, however? 

Well, let’s just say I don’t have any hope that I will trust this group to one day grow up, find steady work, and contribute meaningfully to my Social Security. The sense of entitlement and laziness was real. I’m honestly scared for their future, but it’s also not my problem anymore. They are now 8th graders and I get to see what’s in store for me for my next group of 7th graders. I had no luck in getting into a high school (again), but I will not give up this dream! I will continue to apply and see what comes my way, even if it means teaching English instead of History.

Speaking of teaching English, Cymone and I survived our first week of summer school! We only had two days with the students this past week; the first two days were our work days. We used those days to get our classrooms ready and attended meetings about the summer school expectations. We even had some time to go out on the track and do some walking, despite the 100 degree temperatures! I was a little sunburnt, but it faded within the day, as this Texas girl has always thrived in the sun. It felt amazing getting some sunlight and exercise, and it was easier to do it with Cymone by my side as motivation. We were able to kill time by shooting the shit and before we knew it, we’d walked two miles. I’m so happy that I have Cymone to be my “accountability buddy” as we try to lose some weight.

My summer school students are trying to get credit to pass English 10. They’re taking English 10 a second time because they failed it during the school year. They need to pass this summer if they want to enroll in English 11 and be considered a junior. So far, most of them seem like they want to get the work finished so they can receive their course credit. They’ve been respectful and polite, but not very talkative. They ask for help when needed, so I appreciate all this, especially when my 7th graders caused me a headache most of this past year. These sophomores are indeed a refreshing change. I also like the fact that I get to change things up and teach English, rather than History! I may be a tried and true history nerd, but there is something about explaining texts and writing research papers, poems, and journals that also makes my heart happy. I love to write (this blog is evidence of that) and I’ve mentioned before that I’m trying to piece together a novel (of the romantic and historical fiction variety), so being amongst students taking an English class has certainly revived my dream to continue drafting and editing what I’ve typed so far.

I’ve since been inspired to compose a series of what I’m calling: Letters I Will Never Send. I’ve been in my head lately about my (lack of a) romantic life; how I’m nearing my mid-30s and haven’t come close to getting married. I have so many bottled up feelings and emotions about the men who have come and gone. As the title says, I’m not going to send these new letters to the “recipients.” More than anything, it’s catharsis for me, since I’ll never receive closure from the men who will be “getting” these letters. Some letters will be longer than others; the length, of course, depends on the impact the man had on my life during the time we knew each other. As I write these letters, I will also continue to write my historical romantic fiction novel, and fictionalize my own experiences as the ones my lead heroine will encounter in the plot of my story. The first letter is linked if you are interested in reading through it, as you, dear readers, are not the intended recipient. I doubt the intended recipient will ever read it…and even if he stumbled upon my words…I could care less. He’s not a factor in my life anymore and I don’t aim to please him. My words won’t impact him, especially when we haven’t talked in almost a year!

All this writing I’m doing is not to say I’ve lost interest in teaching History! Just today, I had a call with the the History & Social Sciences curriculum specialist of the county I’m employed with. The state of Virginia finally released the new units of study and standards public schools will need to follow. I, alongside Lisa and four other teachers in the county, have been tasked with creating new unit guides and suggested lessons for other 7th grade middle school teachers to use. This is to help all teachers have adequate materials as we familiarize ourselves with teaching the new standards (the Industrialization/Gilded Age unit alone is a behemoth). This is paid work as well, so it’ll be nice to pocket some extra money while creating engaging resources for my fellow history teachers to use! I’m always happiest when I’m working on anything history based, so completing these resources is certainly not what I would call boring! It’s also great professional development; I’m hopeful that my experience with curriculum work can get me a position with the department at the county level. That would be a dream…and it would get me out of the classroom!

A rare photo of Mamie (the tortie) and her brother Ike.

After summer school is finished, I will have two whole weeks to myself before year eight arrives and I have to do the history teacher thing all over again. Those of you who think teachers just do fuck-all (pardon my language but it’s necessary) during the summer, well, as you can see in my case, we do not. Many of us hold a second job and/or attend professional development sessions, all while maintaining a home life and trying to mentally recharge after 180 days of dealing with children. And you can’t even say we get three whole months to enjoy; it’s only eight weeks! My summer, summer school or not, really does fly by. 

I’m grateful for the time I do have to work on my personal writing, bonding with Ike and Mamie, sleeping in when I can, and spending time with my friends and family. I’m blessed really, to have most of the summer to focus on myself. I’ll try to plan a weekend to Richmond (I need a VMFA/Floris/brewery day) with Breanna. She and I usually go to the Floris tea room at the VMFA and enjoy a beautiful high tea service after visiting the museum exhibits (they’re currently featuring Frida Kahlo’s artwork). I love getting all dressed up for our tea, but I love even more that Breanna will actually do this with me! We just need to figure out a weekend that works for both of us. Maybe I can talk her into going to The Answer for a beer and some yummy Vietnamese food…

what a life it would beeeee…if you could come to mine for tea… (Floris, Richmond, VA - April 2025)

Breanna, her husband (my fellow history nerd/former teacher), Thomas, and Jessica and I will definitely be headed to Great Meadow for their 4th of July fireworks show this week. Cymone and I plan to be “ladies who lunch” and enjoy a nice meal out once a week after we’re done with summer school for the day. Lisa and I will probably drunk brunch at our favorite restaurant, Ted’s Bulletin (I need me a Ted’s Tart, stat), at some point when we’re not working on curriculum planning, and I’ve got birthday celebrations for my mamá and papá this month! 

I’m praying I finalize my trip to Texas. Last time I visited was Spring 2022 and as I’ve stated before, I’m now a tía! My niece, Gabrielle, is now over a year old and I still haven’t met her, so I need to get to Texas to meet her and spend a few days with my brother and sister-in-law.

Busy, busy, indeed, but I’m all the more blessed for having so many wonderful and fun summertime distractions with my most favorite people.

Gabrielle makes the same face I do whenever there’s cake in front of me! Isn’t she the sweetest?

It’s also Britpop summer, as Oasis will officially start their reunion tour in Cardiff, Wales on July 4th. I’d much rather be in Wales for Independence Day to witness this epic first concert, but I guess I’ll have to live vicariously through social media for tour updates. I wasn’t even close to getting on the waitlist for the Chicago gig at Soldier Field. Alas, I won’t get to see the Britpop legends live for the reunion, but at least I can say I went to one of their concerts in my lifetime. 

So, feliz summer y’all! Keep posted for more frequent updates since I’ve got more time back to write to my heart’s content.

many happy returns,

-kate.

she's running to stand still

And so she woke up
Woke up from where she was lyin’ still
Said I gotta do something
About where we're goin’

-U2, “Running to Stand Still” from The Joshua Tree, 1987

trigger warning: discussion of suicidal thoughts

Hello y’all,

At last, spring (and my spring break) is upon us. In Virginia, we have arrived in the awkward inbetween phase of third winter and the pollening, even though just last week, we were maintaining highs in the 80s. I wonder, truly, how my spring break weather will be. I’ve booked two days to go to the local tulip farm so I can frolic in a sundress amongst the beautiful blooms with a couple of my friends…so I’m hoping it will be actual spring/sundress season when it gets closer to my visit. Thanks to the warmer (if inconsistent) weather, I feel my endorphins improving and my seasonal depression fading away. 

I’m grateful for the latter…because my seasonal depression was the worst it had ever been this past winter. When it was combined with the stress at work, my own personal problems (yet another rear-end collision…seriously, I cannot stand driving in the DMV, and of course, another failed romantic endeavor), and more hormonal imbalances…I was at my lowest, emotionally, and in November, the thought to end my life crossed my mind.

Thank God for a late menstrual arrival, literally, the following morning after I cried myself to sleep once I finished talking on the phone to my mother and reciting prayer after prayer to help diminish my thoughts of suicide. My emotions had snowballed due to it being late, so the next day, my mind was more at ease. I must also thank my amazing therapist who helped me process that scary and eye-opening evening. I haven’t come close to having that thought intrude my mind again since November, but I’m also aware that I need to seek a psychiatrist so I can get a referral/prescription for a mood stabilizer.

Since then, I’ve kept myself distracted. I have stayed busy with grading all the Social Studies assignments (we just wrapped up World War II and the Holocaust), finishing my semester’s work for my teaching cohort (hello once again, George Mason), going to Social Studies professional developments (last week, I got to go to Richmond to attend the Virginia Council for Social Studies conference at the Virginia Museum of History and Culture), applying for summer school (I got the job; I’ll be teaching English 10 with my best friend Cymone), interviewing for high school teaching positions (no luck there), going to church while keeping up with my Lenten sacrifices/prayers, and of course, maintaining friendships with the people who truly do value me. I’ve got a Richmond weekend planned with Breanna after spring break, Cymone and I are planning to have lunch during spring break, my high school bestie Jessica is back in the DMV, so we’ve been going for regular nail and shopping dates, and Lisa and I still see each other/goof off at work.

Of course, I have to admit, my former friend and his daughter still cross my mind every day. It’s been almost eight months since I cut them out of my life and part of me still hopes they’d come back. I wish they didn’t live rent-free in my mind, but I can’t pull an “Eternal Sunshine” and wake up like Clementine did one day with lacunar amnesia (trust me, I so wish I could).

I’ll look at my phone and pray that he’s sent me a text message, asking me for forgiveness, only to see no new notifications. Then the thought of reaching out to him will come to me, but my resolve has remained strong, and I haven’t said a word. I won’t say a word. I don’t need him to be nasty and accuse me of still having feelings for him. Like I said in a previous post, I was in love with him the moment we met. He wasn’t even in like with me. Those feelings, as much as I thought had disappeared during our so-called friendship, only resurfaced as I witnessed him be a wonderful father to his amazing daughter and wish I’d gotten the chance to be more, both to him and her. I want the feelings to go away, but it has been difficult for this to happen, especially when I’m the one who fell hard for him. 

He will never, even if it was spelled out clearly for him, understand how awful it has been to rid myself of any lingering feelings.

At the end of the day, I want him to be happy. I could never make him happy.

And he would never want to make me happy.

I’ve realized - I would have gone to the ends of the earth for him (and his daughter) and given up my entire livelihood…my singleness, my ability to go wherever I want at the drop of a hat, to do whatever pleases me at any time of the day, my additional income due to being a cat mom and not a human mom…just to have him call me his.

I let his psychotic ex-girlfriend humiliate me with her stupid, invasive photo message…I watched as he decided to return to her and give HER a second chance (and find out later that she almost got him into some trouble) instead taking a chance on me and my willingness to do and give anything to make him happy.

When he was focused on our friendship, he was amazing, but that was only possible on his end when he wasn’t actively dating anyone.

And after this summer, and his inability to put our friendship first and apologize for hurting me, it finally hit me that yes, the feelings resurfaced, and it is 100% impossible for exes (although I use that term loosely with him) to be friends. Not when he has so much lingering emotional baggage he continues to carry.

I know his daughter is getting ready to end her last year of elementary school. How exciting and nervous she must be feeling as she completes her final weeks with her friends all while beginning to prepare for a new chapter of her life! I’m sure she’s looking forward to the end of year events her school has planned for the 5th graders, but I’m also sure she’s probably overwhelmed by the fact that she’s essentially a middle schooler now and her life is changing by the second. 

How I wish I was there for her right now, but I’m sure her father has her back. At least I pray he does. I know he’s happy that he’s dating again, or whatever, but I hope that he is putting his daughter first, especially at such a critical time in her life. I miss her more than I can say, but then I realize, she’s not my daughter. I don’t and shouldn’t have to worry about her anymore, as horrible as that sounds. I remember his promise to me that I’d always have a chance to be in their lives…but that was contingent on him treating me like a last resort. 

I would have done anything for her, obviously, but not at the expense of her father’s continued emotional damage and warfare to my psyche. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell him that he wasn’t perfect or how many times I apologize for how I manage to mess up…he will never admit that he too, has caused me pain. Until that can happen, then no, we can never be anything again, not even friends. If he ever had the realization that he hurt me…and owned the hurt…then, and only then, might I have hope that exes can actually be friends. 

Motherhood has passed me by year after year since I started adulting and I keep thinking I will never have the chance to be a mother. It has become easier, birthday after birthday, to tell myself that maybe I don’t want to have children anymore. Twenty-something year old me would be calling me an idiot for thinking this…but, remember, twenty-something year old me was optimistic that her soulmate was out there, ready to love her, put her first, marry, and start a family with her. Twenty-something year old me needed a reality check.

Thirty-three trips around the sun, and there is yet no soulmate. I thought he was my soulmate. Part of me still does, because no one has quite awakened my heart the way he did. So I’ll continue to live out my singlehood in the hopes that my true soulmate is out there, ready to fulfill all the things my naive twenty-something self dreamed of when she was getting ready to finish her college education, find a job, and settle down.

I’ve been listening lately (on repeat) to U2’s seminal landmark album, The Joshua Tree (1987). One of my favorite songs, “In God’s Country” is a joy to have on blast in the car as I cruise down the road with the windows open and the fresh spring air and sunshine enveloping my still winter-pale skin. Listening to that song influenced me to go to the start of the album and boy, I’m glad I did. I forgot how beautiful and cinematic The Joshua Tree is when you hear it in its entirety. From the epic “Where the Streets Have No Name” to the underrated “One Tree Hill” to the perfect ending of “Exit” and “Mothers of the Disappeared,” this album has helped me start my commute to work, after I finish praying my rosary, on a more joyous and optimistic note. 

It’s the fifth song - “Running to Stand Still” that has resonated with me most out of the entire track listing. Don’t get me wrong, “In God’s Country” and “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” are my favorite songs from that album (“Bullet the Blue Sky” deserves an honorable mention). And yes, I know that “Running” is supposed to be from the perspective of a woman who is a heroin addict…but the title of the song was a phrase that Bono, the lead singer, got from his brother.  He asked his brother how his struggling business was going, and the brother responded with: "It's like running to stand still.”

And so the song title was born, but again, it and any lyrical references have nothing to do with a struggling business.

I feel that the phrase perfectly describes where I am in my life right now (hence the title inspiration of this post). I am craving a moment’s peace, stability, and a chance to come up for air. I’m, however, overwhelmed with many things to accomplish, especially as I power through the last quarter of this school year. This is always the most stressful time for a teacher, but summer break is on the horizon. Just a few more weeks! Right now, all I want to do is rest and try to go to sleep early, even on the weekends, just so that way I can have enough energy to finish the last days remaining in the school year. I know I’m far from being a desirable dating candidate with my lack of beauty prep (I haven’t worn makeup or a dress to school in months) and my unwillingness to socialize past 7 PM. I’m perfectly fine with being on “survival mode” until June arrives and I’m free. 

But for now, seeing as I’ve been granted a “pause” with spring break, I’ll gladly stand still and get a little rest and recharge, if only for a moment, before I have to run once more to make it to a hopefully restful summer.

Many happy returns…

-kate.

P.S. if you’re ever in a mental crisis, reach out to https://988lifeline.org. You’re not alone.

que le vaya bien.

Dear Grandma,

It has been ten years to this day since I lost you. That this family lost you. There has not been a day that I don’t think of you over these past ten years; that you’re not a part of my daily thoughts. As my life goes on, I will only continue to think of you.

I still vividly remember the day I found out you had passed. I had just started my first semester of grad school, I was working two jobs to pay my tuition, desperate to not take out any student loans. I was also trying to pocket some extra money to visit you in Laredo during Spring Break. I was exhausted and the school term had just started.

I went to work at Wegmans that day, a 5 AM shift in the bakery, and was hopeful that when I got home, after a relaxing shower, would be able rest for a little while before tackling some assigned reading for class. I was home by 2 PM…only to find my mamá’s car in the driveway when I arrived at the house. That was an unusual sight.

My mamá, who was not yet retired, was home early from work. She was never home early when she was teaching. She never took days off. Her school day ended at 4:15!

I had an inkling as to why she was already home. I knew you had been sick. I knew you hadn’t been doing well. I didn’t think your illness would last long; that you would be fine, you would bounce back, and we would visit you in Laredo eventually. My inkling was proven correct when I walked out onto the deck. My parents were seated there; my mamá’s eyes bloodshot, her face fallen and ashen, and that’s when I knew. She didn’t have to say a word as I wrapped her in a hug, letting her blouse absorb my own wave of tears.

I knew you were gone.

We flew to Laredo to say our goodbyes. All your children and grandchildren were there for one final moment with you, our matriarch…the tender heart of the family. You had a beautiful Catholic funeral mass and were buried, as promised, right beside grandpa. “Together Forever,” as it always said on your shared tombstone.

I think of the way that you loved. The way you showed love in this world. I knew you never had much financially. Mamá always said how the family struggled with money when she was growing up. You and grandpa worked hard to put a roof over the heads of your children, to feed them, and to put them through college if they wished…because you valued education so much. There wasn’t, however, room for little luxuries. But having money and material things didn’t matter. All the love you showed your children…the love you showed me…in my twenty two years of knowing you…

I never needed you to buy me anything fancy to prove you loved me. All I ever needed from you was your smile, your laughter, and your ability to turn my worst day into the best. All I needed was your perfect Mexican cooking, and your amazing flour tortillas - you should know that mamá has mastered the recipe now. All I needed was a hearty bowl of your caldo de pollo to feel better during a bad cold…I’ve learned to make it myself so I can be reminded of you in every way possible.

You were like St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the “Little Flower,” showing love in your own “little way” every single day you lived. It was because of you that I learned how to love with all my heart; how to show love, how to give love…how to be kind to others, even if they aren’t so kind to me. And I’m not saying I’m perfect, but even mamá tells me that while I have a giving heart, sometimes I show too much love to the people I want to be loved by in return. When I realize that they don’t love me (especially when it comes to romantic pursuits), my heart, then, is the one that is broken, and that heartbreak is magnified due to the effort I put in trying to prove that I was worthy of someone’s love.

How I wish I had a love right now like you and grandpa did. How I wish I could find that someone that I could be “together forever” with like you and grandpa are now in heaven. And I’ve tried, grandma. I’ve tried being like you and showing my love through my own “little way.” By being thoughtful, by always looking out for the other person, by knowing them, by learning them. I know that you would have wanted me to find the right person to live this life with, but unfortunately, as you can probably see while you watch over me, this has not happened. There are days where I doubt my kindnesses, there are days where I ask myself…why even bother trying to prove I have a kind heart? Why try, over and over again, showing up for someone I want to be loved by…when I haven’t had someone, ever, try to show up for me?

Today's temporary Facebook profile picture

But then I remember all the sacrifices you’ve made, and I know in the end, that all you want for me is to be happy. There doesn’t have to be another person in my life to make me happy, as long as I take care of myself, as long as I am safe and loved…I know that is truly what you want for me. Thank you for showing me how to love. Thank you for reminding me that it is better to give love than to be nasty, cold, and bitter. Thank you for teaching me how to be kind. Thank you for encouraging me every day to give my best to my students and teach them how important it is to learn. Mamá always said how you wanted to continue your education, but you couldn’t because you had to help out at home after you graduated high school. You, however, didn’t let your inability to go to college make you jealous or resentful of others who could. You let your own children choose their path in this life, you promised them a college career, and in the end, your two daughters became teachers. My brother, your grandson, became a middle school band director. He doesn’t do it anymore, but he enjoyed it while he could before COVID destroyed his passion…

…And me, still teaching American history to a bunch of chatty, hormonal seventh graders. As challenging as it’s been with COVID these past few years, grandma…as much as I’ve doubted myself and my future as a teacher, it’s because of you that I keep going. I want to give my students all the appreciation you had for education and learning. I’ve had my rough years; it has been a difficult time, but in the end, you motivate me to not give up on these kids…to help them learn what it is to listen, learn, to want to gain an education, and that there is more to life than video games, sports, and being an influencer. The important factor for them to have a successful start in life is a solid school career…and a teacher who wants to actually teach them.

September 19th is the hardest day of the year for me. It will always be the hardest day of my year. Today, I completed the same routine I always do when September 19th arrives. I kept to myself, I thought of you, I dedicated my daily rosary to you, I changed my Facebook profile picture to my favorite one of us for the day, and I got ice cream in honor of you and how you were always willing to treat your grandchildren to a cone or milkshake. After school, I made a Target run, and then went to Five Guys and ordered a milkshake - this is the only place where it is acceptable to add bacon to your ice cream. I happily sipped my milkshake on my drive home as I streamed a Beatles playlist on Spotify, because you loved their songs so much. All my moments today were intentionally for you.

salud to you, grandma

But please remember that every day, you’re in my mind. Every day, I pray for you. Every day, I look at those four words tattooed on my forearm; those four words you’d call out to me as I waved goodbye to you from the car at the end of every visit:

Que le vaya bien.

That all will be well.

And I know that all is well for you right now in heaven; I’m so relieved to know you’re at rest and in eternal paradise. I know that you are making sure that all is still well for me...my God sent guardian angel, protecting and watching over me on this earth. You have always been my guardian angel; I knew I was safe with you in your care when you were alive. God blessed me by giving someone so kind and sweet as you to be my grandmother. He knew what he was doing by giving you to guide me in this life. No matter how old I get, I could never forget you and all the ways you showed me how to love unconditionally, without anything expected in return - as difficult as that can be sometimes.

I’m glad you’re not suffering anymore. I can clearly envision you right now on some comfortable cloud in the sky, eating all the ice cream in the world, laughing and smiling beautifully, with grandpa at your side. Please say hi to him for me.

All will be well, thanks to you.

Love always,

Kate