Debunking the 'Superwoman' persona

Karen's Specialist Degree in 2008

by Richard Edfeldt

I may pay for this post later, but I wanted to lay to rest a myth about Karen and other mothers who have lost a child.

First of all, I want to share my admiration for Karen.  She is an amazing woman and mother.  She loves her three children and demonstrated (and continues to) that love in an abundance of ways.

Ben, Katie, and Jacob all viewed Karen as Super Mom and Superwoman.  In addition, many of Karen’s colleagues admired her work ethic and quality of work that was always at the highest level.  She always put her students first and had the same expectations of them as she did for her own children.

• She taught them a respect for others. 
• She explained their place in the world.
• She prepared them for their purpose in the world.
• She demanded a lot from them and helped them to reach that expectation.

Karen was Teacher of the Year in 2009

When Jacob was born and faced the daily challenge of life. Karen took on a new calling that any mother in a similar predicament would accept – keeping her child alive.  Each day she poured herself into that goal. She kept Jacob’s medicine intake on schedule; she made sure he ate the proper foods and got adequate sleep; she treated him as normal as possible; and loved him as much as she loved Katie and Ben.

With each doctor’s appointment, medical procedure, and each major surgery, she questioned Jacob’s doctors so she understood his medical status and prognosis.  At times, she was Jacob’s bulldog and defender when she felt doctors were not demonstrating the best determination for his health.

As Jacob’s health deteriorated and as we endured two heart transplants, she put her own well-being aside to focus on his.  And all the while, she kept being a superlative mother, wife, and teacher.

Then we watched across the ICU hallway while Jacob lost his battle with life … and Karen’s fight was over.

This twenty-one year fight took a heavy toll, which most people do not anticipate on witnessing.

The toll that grief takes on a person is obvious, particularly for a parent losing a child.  I feel I can say what I’m about to say because I am a grieving father but ….

The mother’s loss of a child seems to take a heavier toll on her life.

Since Jacob’s death I have seen a change in Karen.  The fight that she carried to fend off the death angels circling Jacob repeatedly throughout his life took a heavy toll.  Her Superwoman persona has taken on some stress fractures and her fragility is showing.  She still can be superhuman in spurts but her physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being have been permanently depleted.  As my brother-in-law described us, Karen and I are ‘damaged goods’.  That sounds rather harsh, but it is an accurate description.  To most but our closest friends and family, Karen and I may seem normal but we are a fraction of what we used to be.

To those who knew Karen in the past may not see any significant differences when around her, but her Superwoman cape has been stolen by the forces of life and death.

I believe this is the way of all mothers who have struggled for the life of their children and have tragically lost the battle.  They were Super Mom and Superwoman in the midst of the conflict.  Their capacity for love and life were larger than life.  They carried on their normal life responsibilities to their husbands, other children, and work as they fought the good fight side by side with their struggling child. They were amazing to behold in the midst of the battle but now the war is over and they show signs of PTSD.  We who are close to them must take that into consideration when interacting with them.  Our expectations need to be tempered due to the damage, seen and unseen, to them.

I know I’m going to pay dearly for this post because Karen does not want this type of attention (in fact, I may need a place to stay for awhile).  Also she will say I paid just as dear a price as her – and that is true.  I, too, have a diminished capacity for life.  But I believe that a mother’s love for her children is different – not deeper, only different – than a father’s love.   And when a mother loses a child, her Superwoman persona morphs into something different ….

A grieving, fragile mother. And you don't recover from that.  You only learn to adjust to the limp in the gait of your life walk.

But she is still a super person….and I love her very, very much!

Libby Kate is Five!

Five years ago today, do you remember where you were?  I certainly do.  I was in the Savannah area having consultative meetings with churches in the region and dodging all sorts of St. Patrick ’s Day celebrations that area is known for.  Then I got THE call!

Ben called me and announced that LIBBY KATE EDFELDT had entered into my life and into the world!  And, once again, my life had changed dramatically! I had a granddaughter and, sight unseen, I was beginning to become wrapped around her tiny little finger.

I remember pulling over into a parking lot so I wouldn’t become a traffic hazard as I eyes filled with tears of joy.

Then a secondary sensation came over me as grief suddenly appeared alongside my joy.  I was still in my first year of grief events over the loss of Jacob.  Those are significant days that we were now experiencing without Jacob; my first birthday without him, the days remembering his two heart transplants, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, etc.  And now here was another first – a niece who would never be able to be held or to play with her adoring Uncle Jacob.  This was inevitable, life moves on, but the thought was still painful.

Jacob and I

Later in the day, Ben called back and the tenor of his voice was quite different. I asked what was going on and he explained that they were on their way to Ft. Worth to Cook’s Children’s Hospital because Libby Kate’s heart was in distress. Once again, I pulled over as tears of concern and rage came over me.  NO! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING! NOT AGAIN! 

We made plans to fly out to Ft. Worth as doctors gathered around Libby to devise a strategy for treating what they had discovered to be wrong with her tiny heart.  The doctors found out that sweet little Libby Kate had Coarctation of the Aortic Artery – a narrowing of the artery which inhibits blood flow to the lower part of the body.

Libby and I

I won’t drag you through the details of the ensuing days. We got out there; Libby Kate underwent a successful surgery to expand the artery and eventually made it home.  Obviously, Ben and Beth were shell-shocked and Karen and I fought back waves of déjà vu as we stood by her bedside in PICU. Both of us had a sense that Uncle Jacob was by the bedside as well, whispering to Libby Kate that she would be OK because he was going to look after her.

Now we fast forward five years.  Today Libby Kate celebrates her fifth year of vibrant life. Her physical heart is regularly monitored and, so far, is doing well. But it’s her heart for life that is mammoth.  She knows of her Uncle Jacob and is adored by her Aunt Katie (as well as by her Kandler side of the family).  She is Mimi's constant delight. She celebrates EVERYTHING with a string of pearls around her neck, a smile on her face and dance in her step.  Her eyes twinkle with the intensity of the stars and her creativity knows no boundary. And her little finger is firmly and proudly wrapped by her Pops. 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEET LIBBY KATE!!!!

Jacob's Trees (by Richard)

Beth's painting

As Karen and I struggled to navigate in the fog of grief following Jacob’s death, we tried to set up memorials and remembrances of Jacob’s life (as if we would really forget about him!). Beth, our sweet daughter-in-law, painted a beautiful painting of Karen and Jacob on the beach that we have hanging prominently on our wall. A cousin of Karen’s painted a wonderful portrait of him as well. And we have other memorabilia around the house that bring us comfort and, often, tears, as they remind us of him.

Another way we tried to honor him was by planting a tree or shrub somewhere around our home in North Carolina on his birthday, March 11. The first plantings we did, while we still lived in Marietta but would come to the cabin on weekends, were two dogwood saplings. One produces pink flowers and the other, white.

Now, I’ve never considered myself a gardener and if half of what I planted each season survived I felt like I was fortunate. Thankfully, both of the dogwoods survived the first summer and fall.  But one weekend in late winter we came up to the cabin and, as I was inspecting the place, I was dismayed to see that the beavers from the creek had somehow circumvented the protective wire around the trunk we had placed around the dogwoods and had chewed off the main trunk of one about two feet above the ground.

I was devastated by this act of vandalism done by a four legged creature with buck teeth. This tree was to symbolize the life of Jacob and now this furry beast had decimated it.  Then I began to smile as I could hear Jacob’s gravelly laughter and voice speaking to me, “Pops, since when did I give a hoot about dogwood trees?”

In the years since this occurrence we have come to realize that, as nice as the act of planting shrubs and trees to remember Jacob by is, we really don’t need these physical reminders to help us honor and remember the life of Jacob.  He is constantly with us in our thoughts. Rarely an hour doesn’t go by that something brings him to mind and it emotes a smile or a tear on our faces.

But you may be asking, “Hey, what happened to the dogwood trees?”

Thankfully, both dogwoods have survived and they have now come to symbolize something else in my life. As I look at the dogwood trees they remind me of my faith in God and how it has changed shape over the years.

For years, my tree of faith was growing straight and true, producing blossoms and leaves as it grew upward and outward. Unseen, the root system grew deep and wide, drawing the needed nutrients and water to keep the tree alive.  But then Jacob died …. And the trunk of my tree of faith was severed at the top.  Since that time, the appearance and substance of my faith has been changed dramatically.

Jacob’s death has caused me to analyze how faith works; how prayer works; how God works.  I have come up with lots of questions and very little answers.  My faith has been damaged and has forever changed shape but it persistently clings to life. Rather, God and His grace has persistently clung onto me in the midst of my doubts, anger, and questions.

In the ensuing years, the dogwood tree that was ravaged by the beaver has struggled to survive and has compensated with the loss of the main trunk by using a branch of the tree as its new main trunk. Meanwhile, the other dogwood has continued to grow well balanced and full.

The one tree reminds me that some people grow with little opposition in their life. Everything comes easy for them and they are the perfect picture of what life should be like, according to most people. They are full and balanced and produce beauty that is attractive to all around them.

But then there are others, like me, who have had some type of trauma that has attacked their tree of faith.  They have been ravaged and brought low.  But beneath the surface, their root system has stayed intact and continues to slowly supply the sap to what’s left of the tree in order for it to continue to live and grow. Now to all outward appearances, that growth is awkward and off balanced due to the heavy losses that tree has incurred. It is still alive and growing but it will forever be affected and changed. It will never be a tree of beauty again. It will continue to face challenges to its life because of its deformity.  But it is ‘still in the game’, struggling for growth and life as it remains tapped in the main power supply. By God’s abundant grace, my ugly looking tree of faith continues to live and grow despite the damage that has been done.

And, thankfully, God loves and nurtures both trees just the same. He has no expectations of equal production, just equal love. And His grace nurtures all trees equally, whether they are deformed or full.

Today is Jacob’s birthday. He would have been 27.  We will never know what he could have accomplished had he had a longer life. But he produced much with the short time he had…and  

his fruit continues to impact others.

Happy birthday, Jake.  You are sorely missed but never far from our heart.

Katie & Andy's Parental Blessing (dated 12/5/14)

by Richard Edfeldt

After Jacob's death, Karen created this blog to record insights in her grief journey.  I would periodically write my insights on notes posted to my Facebook page.  We feel it would be best served if we combined our efforts so I am beginning the process of copying those notes to this blog.  They won't be in chronological order but I will put the original date on each one. 

I've had several people mention to me how special Katie and Andy's wedding ceremony was and I couldn't agree more ... it was a very special day.  Some have commented about my little 'inquiry' prior to giving my parental blessing asked for by Ben (who co-officiated the ceremony with me).  Here is what I said:

Parental blessing

Andy, for all of Katie’s life and even before her birth, I have both dreaded and gleefully anticipated this day.  But it has become very obvious, through the spring in her step when she’s with you, the lilt of her voice when she speaks of you, the shining countenance of her beautiful face anytime you are in the room ...  All of these give testimony that you are the one for her and this is the day we knew would come.

Throughout her life, Karen and I have tried to teach several things to Katie, by our words and by our actions. They that all revolve around one word – precious:

She is precious to God and to us:  We have faithfully shared this incredible belief to her. God created her and broke the mold. She is truly one of a kind; a unique blend of beauty, wisdom, personality, quirks, and capability. And just as we have taught her that she is precious and unique to God, we have also taught her to be respectful of others and their God-given uniquenesses.

Friends are precious: We have taught Katie that friends are a great source of joy, a source of strength when you have little, a source of wisdom when you are lacking, and yet, occasionally, a source of disappointment.  We have been there when, enviably, she has been hurt by a friend, like we all have experienced. In those times we have consoled her, bolstered her, and encouraged her. We have helped her to always see the positive in her friends first but don’t let the disappointments catch her by surprise.  Above all, we have encouraged her to be the type of friend to others that she desires from others.

Family is precious: We have always told Katie, ‘friends come and go, but whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with the family God gave you for life so you better get along with each member of it’. And she does.  She has welcomed and loved every expansion of our family. And she has grieved over the tragic loss our family has experienced.  Through both experiences she has learned the final lesson we have taught her.

Life is precious … so enjoy it, embrace it, run with it, don’t be afraid of it, and hold it dear.

So Andy, before I answer the question presented to me, I have a few questions to ask of my own:

Will you continue to build upon these premises that Karen and I have taught Katie?

To Doug and Janice: Thank you for raising a son that brings out the best in Katie.  Do you give your blessing to this marriage and promise to support them in their life endeavors?

To Karen:  This has been a team effort from day one.  Thank you for raising such a precious daughter.  Do you join me in blessing this marriage and promise to support them in their life endeavors?

Katie and Andy, I want you to look around you. All of these people in this room, by their very presence and by the smiles on their faces, are also expressing their approval of this union and their pledge to support you in your life’s endeavors.

To Ben:  To answer your question: Without any shadow of a doubt, her mother and I proudly do.

Hospitals are Exhausting! (dated 6/25/14)

by Richard Edfeldt

After Jacob's death, Karen created this blog to record insights in her grief journey.  I would periodically write my insights on notes posted to my Facebook page.  We feel it would be best served if we combined our efforts so I am beginning the process of copying those notes to this blog.  They won't be in chronological order but I will put the original date on each one. 

Recently my mother was stricken by a severe stroke.  Thankfully, she was quickly attended to and received excellent care by the emergency medical team and the hospital staff. She was in the hospital for a number of days and today she was transferred to a residential rehabilitation center where she faces some extended rehabilitation time.  Karen and I rushed over (if you consider driving five hours rushing) to see her, my dad, and to help my sister, who is the primary caregiver, out last weekend.  We spent several days in the waiting room and in mom's ICU room. One thing I was quickly reminded of was from our many previous stays in the hospital, mostly with Jacob's frequent time in the hospital - hospitals are exhausting!  Since I had little else to do I tried to figure out why.  Several things started to crystallize in my mind.

1. A sense of powerlessness is overwhelming.

There's nothing you can do to help the situation. A fear of future possibilities and a frustration that you can't do anything to influence it is emotionally draining.  Plus, all you CAN do is sit! You are out of your routine and away from the affairs of normal life. You just sit - maybe talk - maybe read - maybe play games on your phone, tablet, or book of games & puzzles.  There is little sense of accomplishing something as your mental list of things to do keeps growing longer. That's exhausting.

2. You can only talk about so much for so long.

I know this statement may be shocking to see, given my loquacious personality (yes, my tongue is firmly planted in cheek).  Waiting room conversations can be draining, even for an accomplished conversationalist like myself (yes, the tongue has not moved from its in-cheek location). Weather and sports only consume so much time and some people don't even care about those two subjects. Religion and politics are taboo for obvious reasons. Some people can keep a conversation going with the coffee table but for most people .... it is exhausting.

3. The only energy expended is emotional.

When you are on 'sitting' duty at the hospital you exert very little physical energy but it is emotionally demanding.  It is difficult to see a loved one suffer and/or struggle with their illness or injury. You ache to hear or see any signs of good news. Most of the time it eventually comes, but not always.  With any sickness or injury, the recovery has peaks and valleys - times of rapid progress and times of setbacks. You yearn to hear the doctors and nurses share their latest test results or you fixate on the constant readings on the various machines in order to grasp onto any tidbits of good news.  The emotional toll is exhausting.

4. You're living in a parallel universe.

When you are involved in an extended stay experience at a hospital it begins to feel like you have been teleported to a parallel universe or a space station.  You lose touch with time, days of the week, and with the current events of the day. You feel cocooned from things going on outside the walls of the hospital. Sometimes you'll look out a window and wonder what it would be like to be 'out there' much like an astronaut does when he looks out his capsule's window. Occasionally, you catch up with 'the outside' via the TV or a day old newspaper. Other times, you are blessed to have visitors who have passed through all the checkpoints to see you and help you catch up with things that are going in the 'other world'.  From time to time you're able to get a pass and re-enter the real world for a short period of time in order to wash clothes, pay bills, grocery shop, etc., like normal people do. Even then, it feels odd to be back in real life while what concerns you most is in that parallel universe. Trying to maintain your balance in both worlds is exhausting!

Now, more often than not, I am one of those 'visitors' (I even wear the sticker that says so) from the real world coming to bring news and/or supplies to those who are stuck in that parallel universe.  And I understand the exhausted look in their face ... because hospitals are exhausting!

Five Years of Living on Memories

by Richard Edfeldt

After Jacob's death, Karen created this blog to record insights in her grief journey.  I would periodically write my insights on notes posted to my Facebook page.  We feel it would be best served if we combined our efforts so I am beginning the process of copying those notes to this blog.  They won't be in chronological order but I will put the original date on each one. 

Five years ago today, Jacob died….at the age of 21.  This day, more than any other day of the year, is a difficult one to deal with. The date, June 14th, dredges up the memories of THAT day.

Jacob was in intensive care on that fateful Sunday, battling his body’s rejection of his second transplanted heart. The doctors had just completed the first cycle of an anti-rejection regimen when he suddenly seized up and went into cardiac arrest. Karen and I were at the bedside when it happened and immediately called in the nurses and doctors who were in the hallway composing notes and putting away equipment. They quickly escorted us across the hall and began, vainly, to try to bring him back.  Those images are permanently and horribly seared into our memories despite the many times we try to wash them away with our tears.  No parent should have to watch their son (or daughter) die!

But other memories also come and they bring some comfort and healing. 

Obviously, many of the memories revolve around Jacob.  We close our eyes and see snapshots of happier days contained in those 21 years. 

You know the odd thing about death …. it freezes memories of that person at that age or younger.  We can always imagine what Jacob would look like and what he would be doing if he were alive today, but Jacob will always be twenty-one or at an earlier age when a memory comes to mind. 

·         We see his impish smile as a toddler … or a preschooler … or as a young child. 

·         We remember his sense of humor in the face of hospitalizations.

·         We see the hurt caused by bullies at school and, sometimes, even at church – but we also see him grow resolute to not allow them domination of his spirit.

·         We remember times of him sharing his fear of a short lifespan due to his weakened heart.

·         We are reminded of his love for worship through songs we hear.

·         We remember the absolute adulation he had for his brother and sister.

·         We remember his pride in being an uncle, which then leads to a dismay that he had such a short time to enjoy those moments with Tucker and those moments that never came for Libby.

·         We smile at memories of Jacob at home or on trips with the family, or the times we visited him at his college home at Shorter.

·         We remember a scrapbook full of experiences at school and at church, and many trips that involved one or the other.

These memories are all we have now.  They are stirred by pictures, by ‘works of art’ he created, songs we know he loved, gifts he gave us, or a stuffed T-shirt he wore given to us by his dear college friends, and many other mementos that surround us.   The memories comfort us, bring us smiles, make us laugh and bring us tears. Admittedly, they are a very poor substitute for having him still with us, but they are all we have.

But there are other memories that comfort us.  These memories are shared with us by the plethora of people we have met because of Jacob.  They have shared what an impact he has had on their life.

We are thankful for ….

·         Our wonderful extended family that shares with us their love for Jacob and the empty place they have in their hearts because of his absence.

·         School teachers and college professors who have shared how he always lit up a room when he entered.

·         Sunday school teachers who speak with great fondness of his eagerness to chase rabbits instead of Bible verses.

·         Little league baseball coaches who reacted like they had just won the World Series when Jacob, who had to wear a flak jacket to protect his heart, got his only hit in ‘coach’s pitch’ baseball.

·         Neighbors who commented how he always smiled and waved to them when he arrived at home or when he was leaving.

·         His two sets of ‘second parents’ (John & Helen Tegg and John & Kim Moore) who entertain us with stories and memories of their own.

·         Fellow students from high school and college who have kept up with us through Facebook and share with admiration and love of his friendship and how it has changed their life.

·         Church members who would speak of how his devotion to God, in the face of great adversity, challenged them to grow deeper in their faith.

These are the other avenues of memories that help defend us when despair is pounding on our door.  We are thankful for these people. 

Philip Yancey (my absolute favorite author) describes these people this way in his book, ‘Where Is God When It Hurts?’ They are ….”Someone who was there whenever needed, who listened more than talked, who didn’t keep glancing down at a watch, who hugged and touched, and cried. In short, someone who was available, and came on the sufferer’s terms and not their own.”

So now we live on these memories for they are all we have left to sustain us. 

Thank you for helping us survive and thank you for your impact you made on Jacob’s short life here on earth.

Karen Edfeldt, It's Your Time (dated 12/19/13)

by Richard Edfeldt

After Jacob's death, Karen created this blog to record insights in her grief journey.  I would periodically write my insights on notes posted to my Facebook page.  We feel it would be best served if we combined our efforts so I am beginning the process of copying those notes to this blog.  They won't be in chronological order but I will put the original date on each one. 

Tomorrow will be the last day of a superlative teaching career of my wife, Karen. I need to express my deepest love and admiration for her and what she has accomplished throughout her years of teaching –  teaching that occurred in the classroom and many other places as well.

Karen started her teaching career late because of me. We married young, while both of us were still in college, though I was two years ahead of her. Following my graduation, we set out for Texas in order for me to attend seminary that would prepare me for my career in church ministry. Karen had to give up attending college in order to work to pay living expenses.  She worked as a bank teller and a doctor’s secretary so I could get through my schooling and secure a staff position.

Following my seminary graduation, we set out for a tiny town in west Texas called Kermit. Karen was carrying our first son, Ben, when we made that move.  During our short time there, Karen felt the urge to resume her college training and began taking classes at a junior college.

We moved on to Houston as I secured another church position there. Karen soon enrolled at Houston Baptist University and it was there that a spark ignited her passion for teaching. She was like a sponge soaking up educational principles and philosophy. In her ‘spare time’ she gave birth to Katie and continued to excel as a mother and as a spouse.

She graduated with honors (no surprise) and secured her first teaching job at a very challenging elementary school.  Then we discovered that she was pregnant with Jacob and a few months later the trajectory of Karen’s teaching career took a very serious detour when we learned of Jacob’s potentially fatal heart defect that would require several open heart surgeries in far off Philadelphia. 

Once again, Karen had to put aside personal career goals to become a stabilizing force in my life, a loving and caring mother for our three children, and to be Jacob’s life advocate.

After several moves to and in Florida, Jacob’s health was at such a place where Karen felt comfortable to resume teaching and taught several years at Deerwood Elementary in Orlando until an ugly situation developed at church that necessitated my moving on to another position, this time to Georgia.

Moving from Orlando was traumatic for our family. Both my parents and Karen’s mom and sisters lived there. Karen was forced to watch silently as I was pummeled professionally and yet she taught me what love really was about. She helped me to analyze my station in life and stood behind my decision to stay in the ministry (though she had grave reservations about it). It was very difficult to pull our family from local family and friends.

It was with our move to Georgia that Karen’s teaching career really took off. She secured a first grade position at Long Branch Elementary in Dahlonega and flourished there. She kept me entertained with stories of her ‘kiddos’ (my favorite part of her career).  She went through the Masters program at North Georgia and had her sights on administration (she would have been a fantastic principal).

Once again, my career interfered with hers and we made a move to Cobb County. She taught for a few years at Compton Elementary School.  She supervised a student teacher named Kim Russ and when Kim was interviewing for a position at Abney, the principal, Susan Culbreath, called Karen for a recommendation. As they called ‘shop’, Susan soon offered Karen a position as well.

Karen’s years at Abney have been a delight to her. She has continued to regale me with stories of her students and our home has filled up with gifts and mementos given to her by her adoring ‘firsties’.

The Abney family stood strongly by Karen during the many dark days of Jacob’s illnesses, heart transplants, and the darkest days following his passing. For that, the entire Edfeldt family will be forever thankful.

The classroom has always been a place of refuge for Karen. Each year her number one desire has been to create a safe place for the kids so that they can discover the love of learning that Karen so brilliantly displays to them.  She fights fearlessly to let each child know they are loved and respected and they, in turn, need to show love and respect to their fellow students.  Some have said she was too strict a disciplinarian.  I won’t argue that she is tough (just ask her own children) but she believes that a structured atmosphere provides the security needed for learning to occur. Her students have discovered that through a disciplined approach to self-control and through an orderly discipline to acquiring and using knowledge they can achieve so much more than what they thought possible.  Each child knows they are loved unconditionally and sometimes that love comes in a tough wrapping. But at the appropriate time, that tough love is always expressed with a hug or affirming word.

I have frequently sat in the corner of her room on ‘meet and greet’ nights with tears in my eyes as I watch a stream of former students and their parents come in expressing their love and appreciation to what Karen had done for them.

I regret that my career has always knocked Karen’s career off the path. And the challenges of being Jacob’s advocate for so many years have taken a dramatic toll on her.  And now we face other life challenges in our family that has necessitated her, once again, to sacrifice her career for the sake of others she loves dearly.  The absence of these life challenges could have resulted in her influence being extended to many more children.  But as a favorite saying used in our family goes, ‘It is what it is.’

I will miss the stories of the many antics her ‘firsties’ provided that entertained me nightly. I will miss the sparkle in her eye when we spoke of her many ‘kiddos’ that had the light come on in mastering a skill. I will miss seeing the pictures of pumpkin rolls, little pilgrims and Indians, the seasonal group pictures by the tree, and being a secret reader.

But Karen and I know it’s time.  In recent days as we agonized over this decision, she kept asking me when she should retire. Like a baseball coach coaxing a pitcher to give him one more inning, I would say, ‘just a little bit more’. But both Karen and I now recognize that she has given her all, given her best (and it was the BEST), but it’s time bring in the relief.

Karen, thank you, for your wonderful teaching career, despite the many unforeseen detours and obstacles you were forced to address.  Now it’s time to enjoy the next phase of life and I look forward to enjoying it with you.