About a half-hour ago I finished the last of my students’ portfolios from this past semester; I’m waiting a little while here to allow some people who had problems submitting things to me to get some last papers e-mailed to me, but then tomorrow afternoon I’ll be submitting their grades. Contrary to what I thought earlier, I actually do get a week off before the next semester starts, and I probably need that time off right now more than ever. In addition to catching up on reading and writing and cleaning and all sorts of other things, I’m going to need time to just relax, kick my feet up and do nothing at all.

As I expected, the end of this semester was more painful for me than it was in previous semesters, and I’m not referring to having to grade all those extra portfolios here. I take a very deep interest in my students, and I try to do all that I can to enable them to succeed, not just in my class and their other classes, but in life in general. I take care of my students, and earlier this year after Dad died, well, a lot of them took care of me. I know that students coming and going is an unavoidable aspect of my job, and I’m looking forward to having a new group of students to teach here a week from Monday, but after losing Dad a couple of months ago, moving on from this group of students is kind of hard for me.

I think Heather summed it up best when she talked about how hard this Spring is for her. I commented here a week ago about how the trees in our backyard are starting to bud leaves, and Heather pointed out that it’s a sign that the cycle of nature, like life, goes on. For her, as it is for me a good part of the time, it’s still hard to think of life going on without Dad physically here with us. As much as I know that I’m ready to move on with life after Dad’s death, and as much as I know that I have to move on, a good part of me still doesn’t want to move on quite yet. I want to hold on everything, from the good of my students’ support to the bad of the painful grief, because I’m familiar with it. Moving on means moving towards the unknown, and I fear that I’m not strong enough to handle the unknown quite yet. I have to move on, though. Somehow I have to move on.