I've been away for a few weeks, not a surprising turn at the end of the semester. When I come down from the high of April and posting on poetry every day, I am always faced with finals, graduation, and wrapping up the academic year.
However, it's not just the end of school that puts me in a gray place each May. On May 5th I remember my father on his birthday, and again on May 7th, the anniversary of his death. This year marked 5 years without him. On May 10th I observed what would have been my parent's 62nd wedding anniversary. All of these dates are closely followed by graduation, an event celebrated here at UR each year on Mother's day.
This year was especially difficult, as the university community was shocked and saddened by the tragic death of two members of the women's basketball staff in a terrible accident. I knew both of these women. The first was Ginny Doyle. I looked forward to seeing her every spring, as she brought me recruits interested in education. In nearly 14 years working together she never called me Tricia, even though I insisted. She always called me Dr. Stohr. So, I took to calling her Coach Doyle, never Ginny. Over the years she introduced me to a number of remarkable young scholar athletes with a passion for teaching, many of them becoming my students. The second was Natalie Lewis. Natalie was a student of mine, but more than that, she was a connection to home. When I first taught Natalie we made that connection that only folks from Buffalo can make. We talked about food, things we missed, and locations we both knew and loved. I learned quickly that Natalie grew up just a block from the tiny apartment my husband lived in, and the one we shared for a few short months after being wed. Even after her classes with me were complete, she stopped by to visit. I went to see her swim. She came by during student teaching to raid my bookshelves and borrow materials. When she took the job at UR, I would often stop by to say hello on my walk to work. She had a big heart, an old soul, and so much joy that you couldn't help but smile when you saw her.
So, I've been silent for a few weeks, trying to push past the gray and back into the sunshine. It would be so much easier if Mother Nature would cooperate. It was 95 here on Wednesday and 65 on Thursday. Many of the days have been overcast.
In light of the recent death of Maya Angelou, I've been reading her poems, but I imagine lots of folks are sharing her work today. Instead, I'm allowing myself just one last wallow before I pick myself up and dust myself off.
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain, —
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.
People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Diane at Random Noodling. Happy poetry Friday friends.