I am still reeling a bit from the news. I keep thinking, “How long did they know?”

“Did they know when I was giving my presentation?”

“Did they know when he sent me that email?”

“Did they know in the days that followed?”

And then it twists and my pondering gets ugly. Angry.

“Did they listen down the hall?”

“Did they know before me?”

“Do they feel bad?”

I mean it’s ridiculous. The decision was made based on certain immutable facts. I have no business feeling resentment toward people that were not involved, or who at least had no say in the matter. But then the wicked side of me chirps, “Are you sure? Are you sure they didn’t throw your name out to save their own hides?”

I want to shake it. I don’t want to be angry, don’t want to be afraid. And yet here I sit, angry and afraid. The emotional pendulum rages and I find myself weary from the force of it all. The truth is I would do it all for free. I want to help and be of service. I want to belong to this place that I have known for five years, but I don’t. I am no longer a part of the team and my way of mourning that seems to be through spite.

I cannot see my way past what feels like betrayal. I am numb. I am waiting and hoping that this fury and despair will fade.


I refuse to end this without light, for despite the clamorous emotions over what has happened, I am surrounded by good. Sean takes my anger, weathers my inexplicable melt-downs about this thing or that as I struggle to come to grips with having something be beyond my control.

The girls are here, demanding and delighting. My temper can run short, but I have found new depths for just tethering myself to their joyous will— bubbles, gardening, walking, reading, spinning til we fall.

I am healthy.

I have friends.

I am gingerly finding my way.