But December isn’t the summary of 2010 by any means. It’s merely the bitter, cold ending to a tumultuous year. Honestly, I don’t feel as though the year started until May. The first few months involved settling into the routine that I embraced when possible: school work, substitute teaching, time with Dan. We managed to go to Shamrock Fest in March, the event that we honor with bringing us together in 2009, but we left early due to the torrential rains that had us completely soaked. But in May, I was running around like a headless chicken on crack.

May included two weddings, a half a week at the beach (during which time I saw one of my favorite ex-pats, Kate), my college reunion, Alisha’s graduation from Washington College, a concert, a celebration of Alisha’s graduation with her family, and working full time at Hershey Entertainment and Resorts. In my Google calendar, I actually have June 4 blocked off for sleeping in an effort to recover from that month. When I look back on my year, May sticks out as the happiest time. It was busy, and I put the miles on, but I saw so many wonderful people and love was everywhere.

June and July fell into place much like the beginning of the year. We managed a quick weekend at the beach, we attended Celtic Fling with my Mom and SW, and we saw Tom Petty with Dan’s parents. The rest of the time was filled with work and school for me. I was forced to cut back my hours because in addition to my two graduate classes, I picked up a psychology course at HACC to meet undergraduate requirements for teaching certification. Toward the end of July, I set a record for most accidents to a car in one weekend. Dan backed into it in his driveway, I got rear-ended on the way to work, and I opened my passenger-side door into a guard rail while trying to get my insurance information out for the rear-ending. Lionel spent a week in early August in the body shop.

August. August is when the world kind of went to shit. The previous blog entries about SW’s accident really only scratch the surface. On August 2, when my Mom came home from work crying hysterically, I vowed to remain as strong as I could. My resolve remained, and I supported her and tried to support him as best I could. I visited SW in rehab at Hershey more than his own daughter did. In October, he moved to a rehab in North Carolina that specifically treats brain injuries. The situation is so incredibly awkward, and the emotions stirred by the constant phone calls are mixed. We miss him, we feel bad for him, and yet how can we remain consistently dedicated to him when we are unable to get information? How can we support him if he never made the move for us to be family? But we try. We miss him. And we still cry.

It’s really been a mixed bag since August. September held a brief reprieve from all things problematic with Dan and I spending a week in an apartment at the beach. If I remember correctly, we only had one fight, and it was because I wanted to do my homework on the sofa. The whole sofa. Yeah, I’m a brat. We relaxed on the beach, which was empty since it was after Labor Day. We enjoyed our time together, and the peacefulness of Dewey Beach with no frat boys. Things picked up after that; I had to leave my job at Hershey because school and subbing were more important.

Now here we are. January. The holidays have passed, and the only thing on the horizon is the beginning of my student teaching.

I’m scared, and I hope this year is better.

Instead, I’d like to reflect on how being on vacation for an entire week with no commitments made me feel:

Really, really good.

I cannot remember the last time I felt total relaxation. While I did have to complete schoolwork, I didn’t take any textbooks to the beach. I read a trashy magazine and a novel. On a day when the surf was too rough for me to swim, I moved my chair down to the water and watched the waves break. The ocean moved like poetry; the tide seemed to wash away so much of the negativity I carried to the shore with me.

Surprisingly, Dan and I handled living together for over a week pretty well. It was a big test for us as two people in a long distance relationship that normally don’t put up with each other for more than a few days. We slept 11 hours on one of our first days in the condo, and the following day we woke up in time to see the sunrise over the ocean.

It was a wonderful experience because in the shoulder season, the beaches aren’t as crowded and the town is quiet and sleepy. People can bring their dogs to the beach and we watched all the different breeds and how happy they were in the waves. By the middle of the week, we both felt a lot like Peter Gibbons in Office Space. Completely relaxed. Sometimes I felt as happy as the dogs.

I tried to bring the relaxation back with me. For the first time since starting grad school, I turned in an assignment late because I wanted to go to bed at a decent time and refused to stress out about deadlines. I am continuing to relax a bit this week, since yesterday was my 26th birthday and I am still working part-time at Hershey on Sundays and Wednesdays. I need to clean up my office and get my life organized before subbing picks up so that I can keep school, subbing and Hershey straight. I hope that I can keep this positive attitude.

Perhaps someday soon I’ll write a post about all that we imbibed whilst in Slower Lower Delaware. Hopefully with some pictures from Dan’s Nikon rather than my cell phone.

Tragedy is personal. Nine years ago, the nation faced September 11 and a week later that paled in comparison to a car accident at my high school. A year ago, my godfather was killed in a traffic accident; he left behind a wonderful, loving wife and two sons who have since become fathers without their father in their life. It is horrifying what these families have gone through. To anyone who has lost someone completely, who has had someone suddenly ripped from their life, my sadness may seem selfish. I make no apologies for my egocentricity. I acknowledge that each individual disaster is its own experience. All I can do is live in this moment. I am heartbroken. I am helpless.

So I continue to stalk Facebook for news and ask friends for prayers. I carry on spreading the word about this horrible accident, his condition, his prognosis to those who care to listen. I keep talking about him with a stiff lip and no tears because I am resolute in my strength. I wait for news; all sources report slightly different descriptions, but it’s all I have to go on at this time. I fear actually seeing the damage, because I know my strength will leave me and I will have to face the magnitude of what happened. In text it is just a story, a bad dream. The change has not yet been realized in this house, though the emptiness is starting to show itself.

Now that I know how quickly things can change, I try to stay optimistic, but I fear bad news. The helplessness mixes with hope, but nothing is finite. I must subsist on the love and prayers of friends and family and maintain my own good thoughts. I must remember that many people feel this tragic heartbreak, because many people love this man. My biggest hope is that he knows how much we all care.

Megan and Meredith are the closest I’ve ever had to sisters. We were in Girl Scouts together from Brownies through high school graduation, and in the seven years since high school graduation we’ve managed to stay friends. There were times when we didn’t get along and maybe even disliked each other, but now that we’re older, we appreciate the history we share. We can sit down for a meal and it seems like we never spent any time apart. Today, Meredith entertained us with stories of near-death experiences on her travels to Africa, and Megan provided much-needed updates on how she returned to this area to pursue her career.

Megan and Mer weren’t the only friends present. Dan, of course, was here; Kim, who I met through Dan and Keanan, stopped by after a wedding shower in Lebanon; and Megan’s wife, Kara, accompanied her. These represent a newer circle of relationships, an extension of friendships forged in the past. Friends introduce friends to their friends and friendships or relationships blossom. People connect. It’s fascinating to take a step back at the end of the day and reflect on the conversations of the day. So few people can make me laugh the way I laughed today. And I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.

The food was great, too. Parties have become much more classy since the days of jungle juice. Mer and I did manage to kill two bottles of white, drinking about 3/4 of a bottle each. She also brought stuffed mushrooms that went over quite well and Dan and I had picked up crackers, veggies, hummus and horseradish cheddar bacon spread at market that morning. The main course was grilled chicken, pasta salad and corn on the cob. We finished with some delicious pie. Food only managed to quiet us for a few moments, though. The central focus of the day was conversation and stories of the past and discussions of the present and future.

I know that I’m extraordinarily lucky to have such amazing friends in my life. I know that my family and Dan love me, but the love in my house today was different than the love that’s here at other times. Today, my home was filled with sisterhood (sorry, Dan, you’re an honorary sister). We share a history and common interests and a general concern for each other’s well being. We are a family, fashioned from scouting, built on social networks and brought together by benevolent forces. We are fortunate, and I will try to remember this when times are rough.

Other times, it feels like my life is rushed and filled to the point of bursting. I feel like I’m barely clinging on to my sanity. I see people living happy, carefree lives and I envy them.

Perhaps the real situation is that everyone is somewhere between these two places. No one is completely carefree. We all have bills and deadlines to meet. Marriage, children, jobs, houses–they just compound the stress of life itself. In some ways I’m lucky that I do not have those things to worry about. My employment situation is glorified hobo and the white picket fence is a long way off. I won’t have to worry about a mortgage or diapers or contracts for a couple of years. Still, I have to keep telling myself that I’m working toward something or the day to day breathing becomes too much.

My dear friend and “little brother” wrote on my Facebook today that I have to be passionate about teaching. I think I am, but am I passionate enough? I really look forward to working with a classroom of my own, but I’m nervous. I’m more nervous about completing the process and jumping through the hoops of student teaching and Praxis testing, but it’s still just another stressful element in this path I have chosen for myself. And I’m always questioning if it’s the right path. I’ve had a good break from subbing due to PSSA testing and conflicting schedules, and I can honestly say that I don’t miss it all that much. I’ve already entered the mindset for my summer job, which might just be a necessary coping mechanism.

I wonder if I’ve missed my calling. I wonder if this is what I’m supposed to do. Friends–well, more likely friends of friends–would turn to religion here and pray for answers or something. I could consult my tarot cards. I could put my faith in what my friends tell me. I could believe in myself for once.

I’ve kind of hit a wall. I guess that’s what April is, and possibly always has been, for me. I think I was usually fairly frustrated by this time of year in undergrad, and most certainly in 2008 and 2009, I was slowly going crazy by this time of year. I want to be passionate about my classes, about subbing, about life–but right now I just keep asking myself two questions:

Is this real life? and

Can we go to the beach yet?

I need this.

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