No One Told You Life Was Going to Be this Way

"So no one told you life was going to be this way

Your job's a joke, you're broke, your love life's D.O.A.

It's like you're always stuck in second gear,

Well, it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year

But, I'll be there for you

When the rain starts to pour

I'll be there for you,

Like I've been there before

I'll be there for you,

Because you're there for me too."

~I'll Be There For You by the Rembrandts (famed as the "Friends" theme song)

"Friends" is a fictional sitcom that includes situations only existent in fiction. "Friends," though, like other cultural art forms, reflects some semblance of reality. I can't say that my life this year has included multiple love interests, ridiculous pets, or complicated romantic triangles. I also can't say that it contained much consistency, especially in the form of a singular group of people in a neighborhood coffee shop. Not always, at least.

When my roommate and I decided to Netflix the entire series of "Friends" and watch the episodes in order, we sang along with the theme song. Obviously. Anyone who has ever watched that show and does not sing along is clearly not understanding the concept of pop culture. We'd even do the claps. And, we laughed, because in our naivety, we thought the simple move to Tulsa and the events that followed had symbolized the idea that it hadn't been our day, our week, or even our year.

What little we knew then.

To say that 2009 was a tumultuous year is an understatement. It had its triumphs and awe-inspiring successes, sure. I will always remember 2009 for those, but I will also never forget 2009 as a time of turmoil, tragedy, and to put it mildly -- challenge beyond any previous measure.

If you had asked me a year ago to predict where I would be today, I wouldn't have even made it into the ballpark. Tulsa? Teaching? Motherless? In fact, when I asked myself a year ago to reflect on 2008 and carry myself into the new year, I relied heavily on hope. Hope that change could happen, that all could be better, no matter what.

Well, change can happen. And it does. Sometimes, more dramatically than one could ever have imagined. Time to bear all. Bear with me, if you choose.

In this past year, I have attained a college degree, made it to Washington, D.C. for the inauguration of an historic president, attended a change-the-world conference for the second time, had a holiday proclaimed in my name, and found a rewarding and challenging career. In these respects, I am incredibly lucky and thankful.

The year has been marked with tremendous loss. For those of you who know me, you know that some of my greatest influencers died. Now, a great number of celebrities also passed (an abnormal number, no?), but my personal heroes are gone, as well.

Mr. Mac, my 7th grade math teacher and arguably the only reason I'd ever consider teaching middle school, died. He was the first teacher I connected with on a level that broke the barriers of a classroom. He wrote in my yearbook that I would have to come visit when I became valedictorian. I don't know if he considered that trite, but I took it more seriously. I don't owe him my high school success, but I do owe him, at least partially, for instilling in me a goal. Until that happened, though, I still visited him annually (at least), and once I was in college, kept him updated and even sent postcards from my travels. He never failed to be supportive and he always encouraged my goals, and dreams.

What hurt the most about his passing was that I had no idea it was even coming. The last we talked in person was Spring 2008. I visited his classroom and we talked about junior year, his family, and his pending retirement. He was looking forward to the next year being his last as a teacher, and spending some time with his wife as they traveled around the world.

In the fall, with the election and classes taking up my time, followed by El Salvador, I didn't have time to visit him. I sent him a postcard from ES and told myself I would see him in the spring. In March, I learned of his death from a serious cancer, and could hardly believe it was true.

My grandma moved back to Colorado in April to be with our family. She was always a fiesty woman, and I'll never forget the tumult she put my cousin and I through at the airport when we picked her up. The story needs no repeating, but suffice it to say -- she is where I get my strong sense of passionate opinion-making. Whatever the case, she did always make me smile.

Her health took a turn for the worse, which we all attributed to her old age and lack of realization that she couldn't move like a 60 year-old any more (or a 20-something, for that matter). Like the bouts with osteoporosis and breast cancer, I thought she would fight her way back and be the spunky lady we all knew and loved again.

To some degree, she maintained her spunk. The first night she had to spend in the hospital, she argued with her nursing staff and doctors, and was ready to walk her way right out the door -- if she could only move. I ended up spending the night with her, which meant maybe an hour of sleep, and a lot of reassurances, hugs, smiles, and tears. It was a trying night, but one that I cherished and will continue to do so.

The next day was the day with the mayor, and the big proclamation, and the acceptance into Teach for America Tulsa. The whole experience, from Sunday in the hospital to Monday afternoon with the e-mail offer, was a huge emotional roller coaster. Kind of a microcosm of the months remaining in 2009.

She always wanted to see me graduate, but couldn't make it to the physical ceremony. She still made it from the physical rehabilitation center to my graduation party, and even though she was slightly not herself, I could feel the little lady I always knew and loved. It was far less than a perfect day for her, but we knew we loved each other and that something great had been accomplished, and so I'd like to think we were both happy.

The last time I saw her was leaving the rehabilitation center two days before I left for Tulsa. She was smiley and perky, reminiscent of her normal personality. I told her I would visit with Rande the next day, before I would be off to the new career. She smiled and we hugged, said "I love you" more times that you could count. She waved with both hands from her wheel chair and smiled big.

I didn't make it with Rande the next day, for whatever reason. Then, I was off to life in Tulsa and training in NYC.

TFA training at Summer Institute is a trying experience. I think, to remind us that fun still exists in life and to give us some moments of sanity, we are given a free afternoon by surprise at some point during the training. Instead of more academic sessions and planning, we are given the afternoon for a field day, bbq, and unstructured social time.

There was rumor of this day at the beginning of that Tuesday in July. None of us knew it was actually legitimate, though, so we mostly joked about it. Then, we ended teaching for the morning and were brought into a school meeting with our staff. They informed us that budget cuts (a reality in public education, just to be clear), they would no longer be able to be our staff. Instead, we would be working under the NYC Board of Education, not TFA.

The 26 teachers in the room fell for it. We were shocked. Some of us cried. Then, a note on the goodbye video said something about a free day.

And we were so mad at our staff for punking us. But, it was a good kind of mad. Another roller coaster slope and rise of emotion.

As I left the school that day, I returned a call from my mom. She had been trying to reach me all morning, and I was never allowed a moment until then to talk to her.

She told me the news in a way that I knew it was coming. A somber tone, offering of strength and love. I sat alone on the bus ride home, juggling phone calls from my mom, Rande, and family on the east coast.

Needless to say, I opted to not leave Institute and teach through it all. My staff knew, but I never took the opportunity to tell most of my colleagues. I told my students and the fellow teachers that I worked directly with, but I mostly just tried to get the job done. I'd like to think that that's a lesson grandma taught me. A lesson in resilience and hard work.

And, it afforded more of us the opportunity to be together for her memorial in August, when I did return from NYC.

There are so many words, sayings, and phrases to describe my grandmother and the tremendous positive influence she had (and continues to have) in my life. My Aunt Pamela delivered a beautiful eulogy, we played a couple of Sinatra songs she would have loved, and had a few laughs about the silly and wise things my grandma always did. You can ask me at any time, and I will have a number of things to say about my grandmother and her strength.

She instilled it in all of us. We are a family of strong women because of the strong woman at our helm.

My mother was no exception. We were lucky that her cancer treatment took her to Tulsa. It was a coincidence that makes me thankful that the universe includes coincidences.

Her last visit to Tulsa was actually a long-term one during the first month I was living there. She left at the end of August, right after my first day of teaching. Before then, I visited her often on the other side of town, had many meals, and was able to show her my apartment and receive her blessing (it was an important one).

In her last week in Tulsa, her condition was deteriorating, but like my grandmother's, nothing I assumed she couldn't win against.

In early September, I rushed myself to Denver on a Monday evening to be with her as she entered hospice. I stayed with her for 6 days, until I needed to return to my job in Tulsa. In those six days, we shared some magical moments, whether it was conversations about her "pending" trip to Disneyland, the baseball game we were to play, or the time she told my cousin and I, "Let's take a shower and get the hell out of here!"

There were private moments we shared where she cried about missing her mom, or very lucidly told me how proud she was of me, and where I told her how beautiful and inspiring she was. We hugged a lot. Cuddled. She held my Teddy on the first night, and there are times I swear I can still feel her warmth in him.

I found out about her passing in the middle of my school day, sitting in my principal's office. He offered to take my classes, but I knew that my kids would be a tremendous asset to me. Sitting around in a strange place without anything to focus on would surely drive me nuts. I had to do my job for my sanity.

I continued doing my job that week, and left Friday after school to spend the weekend in Denver. I took bereavement days the following week, but knew that my mom and grandma would not have settled for me giving up, as nagging as that possibility was.

Needless to say, there are still times I miss both of these beautiful, strong women like crazy. Especially at the end of a long day when I would normally call my mom, or in the time when I have a quick moment that I could call my grandma during.

What I do know is that timing is everything, even when it all feels so untimely.

Mr. Mac was a great mentor who would have been a tremendous resource through my transition into teaching. I do wish that sometimes I could call him and ask for advice about some of my more trying moments, but I also know that his influence still does impact the way I view and handle my job. In his obituary, there are some lasting words that, at times, I feel were written in just for me:

"He taught math to middle school students in the Adams County School District 50 for 20 years. It was a labor of love. At the beginning of every year he’d declare to Christina 'This is toughest group I’ve ever had,' and at year’s end he’d proclaim 'This is the best group ever.' He made them capable and confident, and they returned the gift by renewing his faith in young people and the power of education."

In visiting Denver for the holidays, I found a momento my grandmother received as a gift for her retirement. It's a frame with a music box, showing her dancing on the assembly line at a plastic plant. The quote, from Ralph Waldo Emerson, is something that I have always taken note of, but now seems more pertinent than ever:

"To laugh often and much to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."

And then there is mom. A beautiful, intelligent woman who's voice never failed to turn me in the right direction. The only words that remain ever-prescient with me are ones we repeated so often. Except, the last time I vividly remember her doing so was in a moment of such lucidity she even added a poingnant twist:

"I love you more than more."

So, life in 2009 has been far from a sitcom. It has been a winding roller coaster of moments that a fiction writer could never master.

Through all of this, the power of people, of relationships, and even of hope and progress, have been ever-present in my life.

"I'll Be There For You" is a song not just remarking on how life can turn on the dime, and that it is not always pleasant, but that friends, family, and people can make all of the difference.

In this vein, I know I couldn't have made it to 2010 (a year of much better days, I hope), without a tremendous group of amazing people:

Old friends: Rande, Zoee, Sam, Elizabeth, the Holtz's, Mike, Adam and his family, and Anne, as well as Nancy and Shareen.

A great family: Aunties Pam, Gloria Jean, and Becky; cousins Chelsie, Justin, and Philly; Uncles Dan and Steve.

New friends: roommate Erin, Institute Bestie Tamila, and my colleagues in TFA and at Madison (Ben, Eric, Dan, Whitney, Jon, Cord, Eric, Rebecca, Stephen, Mercier, Kelli, Erin E. and Jay, just to name a few).

Not to mention the DU Pioneers that made my senior year a memorable one: Nick, Dillon, Erin H., Ben W., the Project El Salvador team, Provost Kvistad, University Architect Rogers, professors Wadsworth, Knecht, Masket, and Coyne, and the entirety of the AUSA 08-09 Senate.

Life was never expected to be this way. Who knew what a world I would be in at the end of 2009, compared to the end of 2008. Here's to hoping that 2010 will be challenging (just enough to make me stronger), but filled with more triumph than loss.

And with consistency...I am over surprises at the moment;-) I guess if there are more dramatic turns in my future, at least I know that I have some of the best friends and family in the world. Seriously.

There is a coffee shop that my roommate and fellow TFAers have taken to going every Sunday for planning, grading, and all of the "teachery" things that consume our grown-up lives. Every once in awhile, though, we veer off course and are the friends that the sitcoms romanticize.

And, in this moment, that's all we can wish and hope for. People who are there for us, and people we are there for.

~MJ

Writing in memory of all those passed, blessing the legacies they leave and the futures they prepared us for.