Author: Wendy T

Last month, Emma and I had the opportunity to participate in a church service in which the music leader shared her journey to just listen. The set was intentionally accoustic. She shared her journey in faith, music, and the need to stop talking and simply be still and listen. It was the message and music I needed in the moment.

I think about the past now almost four years since losing Mom: turbulent, frantic, fragmented are words I could use. However, I could also use: inquiry, purpose, empowering. Both personally and professionally, I feel I have been forced to be or found myself searching for the quiet. Those of you who know me well, know this is not a trait I carry often or well. I am most frequently the one to speak up, speak out, or speak before I probably should. Mom would tell me I was being “catty” if she felt I was speaking out of turn, yet, she is also who instilled in me from an early age agency, inquiry, advocacy and voice. I love looking through photos of her reading or singing with Josh or Emma. Always the loving educator and musician, her love of learning and music are gifts I see present in my own life daily.

This summer at a professional development session, I completed a personality test that the outcome matched my leadership traits with that of an animal (a golden retriever, beaver, lion, or otter). When my personality match came out to be lion I automatically caught myself on the defense. Was this really how I behave as leader? I looked only at the weaknesses (particularly because they matched well) and only later reviewed the strength column. Since then I have been paying closer attention to these cat-like tendencies to help strengthen the areas I need to refine as well as further develop and find confidence the areas that make me who I am.

This is my third year in administration. A humbling profession that reminds me daily to pause, be present and listen to those I have the privilege to serve. I am working to grow in my capacity through intentional practice, reflection, and professional community of collaboration. Recently, during a training, I asked a clarifying question only later to have a mentor comment to me that she knew I would be the one bold enough to ask these kinds of questions. I left feeling unsure as “bold” in my understanding is not synonymous with the service leadership traits I work to model. Was this another moment when my lion-headedness interrupted a moment of learning when instead I should have just been still? My consistent question is often, would it have been better to have left my question for another moment than to have asked when I did? Was I too focused on my agenda and as a result did I miss where the speaker was leading the conversation? This is an element I need to work on in all areas of my life.

As a parent, I find myself needing to remind myself to stop talking and simply listen to Emma. She is creative, kind, witty, and loves to share her story. Our stories blended together eight years ago and each day with her has been a gift. I need to be cautious that I do not overly critique her narratives and that I take time to truly hear as Dr Paul Leavenworth says “the story within her story.” She is inquisitive and curious, asking questions and constantly learning through what she hears, reads, and observes. In gymnastics she is driven to learn new skills. Her determination, resilience and growth are reminders to me of what is capable when you have faith.

Fall is always a busy time of year for our family. In the hurriedness of the season, I am working to slow down and take time for the friendships, conversations and to better invest intentional time in my marriage. Courtney is my rock and keeps me grounded when I begin to get lost in my to do list or the heaviness of hard things become too much and I feel broken. This fall marks the 21st year since we have met. Ironically, we decided to try sober October so we didn’t toast to our now legally aged relationship. However, no toast would quite suffice for the sacrifices, successes, and stories we have written together.

This school year Josh would have been a freshmen in high school. Another of the milestone moments in our book of what would have beens. Viewing photos of my friends children who are the same age no longer brings me to tears, but instead makes me smile to think of how handsome he would have been at this age. While time moves on, my heart still holds him as our handsome man.

This summer I am working to hold true to balance rest and professionally refueling for the upcoming school year. The Mindvibe.co captured my focus with their post and I have been re-reading it to remind myself to slow down as well as be more intentional with my time, words, and actions – even if that intentionality is in pausing.

I headed into the Missoula Marathon the last weekend of June with the goal simply to enjoy the day. While my nervous stomach had other plans, it was still a beautiful day and I completed it with a crew of family and friends. Courtney biked along side me for the last twelve miles and friends showed up along the course with posters and encouragement. It is a humbling experience to want to push yourself, but to realize your body is protesting. I was very aware that to spectators I looked fine and it may have seemed odd as I didn’t look injured. In addition to the physical challenge of completing the distance, this social factor became a mental battle for me to remain positive and enjoy the mileage. As I ran by others or as they passed me, I couldn’t help but think about the activity where you imagine if we all put our stories on our shirts how different we all would treat one another. I wondered about the stories of those around me and what their why was for running. I thought about all the miles I have logged since Josh’s diagnosis. At the finish line after almost six hours on my feet, hugging Emma remind me it is worth every step forward. It is up to me to model for her how to be strong and courageous and in order to do so, I must first believe that I, too, am so.

Last week I had the opportunity to attend the UNITED Conference for NAESP (National Association of Elementary School Principals) in Seattle. The opening keynote was delivered by Daymond John and he ignited my positive mindset for the remainder of the conference. I was able to learn from leadership icons including Gholdy Muhammad who spoke from the heart on genius, justice, and joy and Adam Welcome whose commitment to embracing each moment with excitement and energy was contagious. I was fortunate to have traveled with a team of six other leaders from my district whose expertise and friendship remind me how vital professional networks and collaborative practices are in education.

Dr. Andy Jacks in his session titled “Bring the Confetti: Real Talk on Leading with Heart, Habits, Humility, and Hope” asked us to consider the contrast between our daily checklist and the to do list that pops up. The fidelity checklist is what we need to complete each day to do our jobs well and the to do list is what pops up that simply needs to get done. It was a powerful moment of reflection to sit with myself and my practice as a professional, a parent, and a partner. I have room for growth when I analyze the time I spend doing things and the time I spend completing things well and with purpose. John Maxwell was our closing keynote speaker. He shared with us five of his 21 Irrefutable Laws for Leadership. He challenged us to evaluate how we add value to our lives and that of others – not overall, not in a general reflection at the end of the year, but intentionally and with purpose every day. Maxwell shared “people will rise to the value of their self worth.” It was the call to action I needed to kick myself in gear both as I focus on loving my family fiercely and as I prepare to serve our school community for another year.

Growing up, my family always put our family first. My mom my first teacher for how to treat others and my greatest teacher for how to value others. She was gracious and kind, even when others did not extend the same courtesy to her. She was the epitome of strength, courage, and grace. That said, she was also silly, stubborn, and would fight for anyone who didn’t have a voice. My sister and I talk about how much she modeled for us and how even now, after her passing, we feel we are still learning from moments and memories we shared. This Fourth of July we spent five nights being tourists in our hometown. Emily and I gave ourselves permission to be silly (and stubborn) and we had a blast. I realized too seldom am I modeling for Emma the pure joy of being silly. It was good to laugh.

As I continue to search for balance, thank you for being on this journey with me. Here is to each of the moments and miles we are given together.

In 2017, I ran my first marathon in Missoula. This weekend I am excited to be able to run the Missoula Marathon again. It is a well organized race series in a community that shows up by the hundreds to celebrate the spirit and dedication of running unlike any other. #MissoulaMarathon #LastBestRace

A coworker recently asked me what I was running from when I shared I was training for a marathon. It was hard to explain in a concise way what all I run for. I agree with Victoria Phillippi @run4prs.coachvictoria who shared “Running marathons is more about who you become while training than your time on the clock.” Training for the marathon has brought back lots of memories and has given me the excuse to push myself physically and mentally.

Running my first marathon was special. I traveled with a group of friends and Courtney ran the full race with me. However, the most memorable part of the weekend was meeting our daughter Emma. Our journey to be together in ways mirrors marathon training. Others don’t always understand it. But to us, it is what makes our lives complete.

During the final week of the instructional year, I was searching for a quote to show my appreciation to staff. Emily in her serendipitous sisterly wisdom happened to send me an Instagram message with the above quote from Tavernier. The passage captures so many of the entry points, celebrations, and the overall resilience of those whom I have grown to trust and as a result hold so dear. My second year as an elementary principal has been a year of all the extremes and in-between. Yet, there is nowhere I find myself longing to rather be. The quote gives me a needed moment to remember the sweetness of the “breathtakingly beautiful” ordinary life. My transition from secondary education to elementary education and a classroom to administration again not a running from but a running for decision.

As a part of my marathon training, I completed the Montana Half Marathon. Unlike my typical 5 AM training runs race day left me running in much warmer temperatures. However, as was my goal, I concentrated on maintaining a manageable heart rate and consistent positive attitude. For once, I didn’t fixate on the time on my watch, but instead paced myself on how I felt. When I needed to slow down, I did and when I felt good, I picked up the pace. This is a goal I need to carry into all elements of my life, but running was the safest entry point. My only goal for the half this year was to finish somewhere under 2:30 as opposed to stress about a per mile pace. As a result, for one of the first times since running Santa to the Sea in 2013, I had fun and noticed things along the way that I would have missed hurried to reach the finish line. I thanked volunteers, took pictures, stood in multiple sprinklers and visited with other runners along the way.

Looking through my race memories from earlier years, I found one my sister captured from my full marathon in 2018.

I remember being so excited to have passed mile marker 20 and then when I saw Emma on the course my heart melted. This year, Court and Emma leap frogged me along the way as they were also helping to cheer & pit crew for another friend. I knew they would be on the course, but my heart still skipped each time I would round a corner and see them.

The similar nature of the snapshots over the span of the years reminds me to “breathe in the amazing.” I particularly like Emma’s shadow in the 2nd photo and mine in the first. If I was craftier, I think it would be fun to overlay them so our shadows could run towards one another. At mile 11 of this years half, I did the rough math and realized I needed to really pick it up if I was going to make my overall time goal. I wouldn’t be able to slow down, and walking and sprinkler stops would have to be forgotten. The heat had caught up to me a bit and my legs were cramping. As I neared mile 12, I found Court and Emma, my faithful pit crew, waiting on the corner of someone’s front yard. I shouted “I need some salt.” The woman whose yard they were standing on the corner of shouted back, “Salt? I have salt” and sprinted into her house baby on her hip and all. Courtney and I looked at each other, a bit unsure of what to do. I asked “I guess I should wait?” Moments later she returned with both a shaker and a blue can of Morton’s – of which I dumped a bit into my water bottle, said thanks, and kept going. Her attitude and assistance perfectly capturing the spirit of running and those who cheer us on along the way. In the end, I missed my goal time by only 48 seconds, but I wouldn’t change any of the 48 seconds I took remembering to breathe and enjoy the moment in the mileage.

Courtney and I celebrated eighteen years of marriage this month. We met in Missoula twenty years ago and our first dance at our wedding was to Rascal Flatts “Bless the Broken Road.” One could say our training route has had a few bumps, but it is blessed. I joke about wanting to add up the miles we have traveled and literally run together to become the couple we are for each other as well as the parents we are now for Emma and we were to Josh while he was with us. Yet, I know it isn’t the overall number that matters but each of the moments – the awful, ordinary, and amazing – that we have remembered to breathe.

One of the goals I have been working on this school year is to find a way to relax. This goal may sound silly, but it stems from my need to feel in control. My goal came from a realization that I was micromanaging my life and as a result my interactions with those whom I love and appreciate the most. Reading through the last seven years from my first blog posts in June 2018 until now, it is also a component of my journey for grace as I work to find balance.

I am working to have a mindset that busy does not equate success and believe as @drcarilineleaf notes “Rest is not a luxury; it’s an act of resistance against a world that equates exhaustion with success.” Yet, I find myself struggling to simply chill on a day off, instead feeling an urgency to catch up on all the things I have on my to do list after a week of work. As a direct result, I miss moments with Emma and Courtney. I need to rest and recover so instead of noticing these lost moments as they pass, I can be fully present.

This spring we took the opportunity to focus on family and relax for a full week with nothing concrete on our tropical vacation agenda, but to simply spend time together. It was the refresh I needed to reset my mindset. While a week on a beach in Mexico isn’t always practical, it reminded me I need to add family focus time daily and let the agenda work itself out as time together is never wasted.

Recalling my childhood, my mom was both present and hard working. As a family business owner, she instilled in me from an early age if there was work to be done, it was up to us to get it done. She took pride in working together and found joy in the simple beauty of our garden whether it be the first daffodils or a trailer-haul of pumpkins. The other night while we were playing the board game Life with Emma, the sun burst through Papa’s window and illuminated a vase of daffodils by Mom’s photo. It caught us in the moment, a snapshot of the memories with her as well as the memories we are making now because of her continuous influence to love and live the way she taught us. Man, I miss her.

This Mother’s Day I wanted to run the Women’s Run, but instead found myself solo in the morning sun for a 14 mile training run. Like most things, it turned out to be exactly where and how I needed to be. Long run hours give me the time I need to be both physically productive and reset mentally. This round of marathon training has been less about distance/speed and more about finding a pace I can sustain to be confident and comfortable in my body. My last few distance races I have had some headache issues so my goal for the #MissoulaMarathon is to relax and enjoy the mileage as the miles we travel will be the same, but what we choose to do with our time on the trail is what matters.

This month we made the hard decision to say goodbye to our loving lab, Jasper. He was one of a kind. He retrieved hundreds of birds, partook of one picnic lunch, patrolled the Beartooth backcountry, could play fetch for hours, destroyed multiple kennel latches, enjoyed brisk interval walks, and broke his tail on three separate occasions. One of Courtney’s friends shared affectionately “that dog – he’s all heart.”

Twelve years ago Courtney and I were struggling through one of the hardest seasons of our lives. Josh had been diagnosed with Menkes Disease over a year earlier which included a prognosis of a life expectancy of less than two years. I took a leave of absence and will forever be thankful for the days I was able to spend at home with Josh. One fall day, Courtney and his coworker Paul, were patrolling the Stillwater River listening to 90s hip hop when Courtney thought he spotted a lab puppy in a field miles from the nearest farm. Paul commented “well, he’s coyote bait now.” My favorite part of the story is a few moments later, they turned around, drove back to the spot, whistled into the field, and out burst a very friendly and overly excited black lab puppy. The rest of the story is history and Jasper Joe became a loved member of the Tyree family.

Jasper came into our lives at a time when Courtney and I were unable to process, unable to figure out exactly what it was that we needed in our lives, and truly were surviving moment to moment. Even to say day to day feels like a stretch. We were sad, we were angry, and we were heartbroken. I remember laying on the hallway floor intentionally stretched between Josh in his swing and Jasper on the living room floor as Hoyt slept in the sunshine by the front window. I was seemingly unaware of the oxygen cords and puppy toys equally sprawled across the floor as boy and dogs slumbered, yet, was pressingly aware of the need to be able to reach Josh first should the puppy wake first and want to share his puppy kisses. When Josh was diagnosed in the fall of 2011, we were encouraged to start a Caring Bridge site. The site provided us a platform to share updates and photos. Now, printed as a book as the site has been archived, it serves as a memory book of our day to day. Reading each entry brings me back to the moment captured in the timestamped snapshot as well as the heartbreak that was being written between each line.

I remember being worried to tell our parents that we had adopted a dog. We were worried they would tell us it was a crazy idea – but our parents knew Jasper was exactly what we needed. Jasper, like so many things in life, was a gift. Last week was Josh‘s angel day. On the day Josh died, Courtney and I had taken turns holding him in our arms all day. Hoyt and Jasper were with us inside as it was a frigid December. As the day darkened into evening and Josh’s breaths per minute increased, we knew he couldn’t maintain much longer so we placed the dogs in their kennels next to us in the living room. At one point, Jasper whimpered so I got up to check on him. When I returned to the couch, Court whispered through tears “he’s gone.” Although I didn’t understand it in the moment, I now believe Jasper had given me a gift through his distraction.

For the next decade, Jasper and Hoyt became our focus. Traveling with us on many adventures and being a constant source of unconditional love and joy in a grieving home. In 2017, when Emma joined our family the dogs again became our secondary focus but were nevertheless a constant. I once read “to us a pet is a chapter, but to them we are a book.” Those of us who have known the love of a dog, we are fortunate. It is a love that is all heart.

It has been an unseasonably warm fall in Billings. It has given me more time to take in the colors and the beauty that often is so allusive after an early Montana frost or October snowstorm. The shadows of fall’s sunshine mixes with blasts of winter wind and reminds me that the weather will soon shift and I will need to look for glimpses of beauty in the next season. The cottonwood in our backward has been a consistent tower over our yard providing shade and shadows. From the porch and hot tub I would watch the ripple of its shadowy limbs wave across the side of the house and on our gusty nights I would say a prayer that its branches would hold steadfast and not come through our bedroom ceiling. This fall we had to have it removed and now in its absence, I have been intrigued to find in its absence shade and shadows I never knew existed.

Shadows have always fascinated me. Perhaps this interest stems from the intro scene of Peter Pan when Wendy is awaken by the shadow on the wall from Peter Pan’s playful chase to catch his shadow. Looking through old photos recently, we stumbled across a video of Emma playing shadow tag as a toddler. Courtney was bending and twisting ever so slightly and Emma’s giggle can be heard saying “Daddy, let me catch it” as she toddles back and forth across the blacktop in chase of his shadow. The three of us laughed, remembering the joys from a simple time and a simple game.

Like shadows and the changing of seasons, grief too has its subtleties. As @AdamMGrant notes “Grief is not purely a negative emotion. Over time, it becomes bittersweet-sadness is joined by love and gratitude.”

This fall I have had the privilege to work with both an executive life coach and a health and wellness coach. My decision to draw a clear distinction between my leadership goals and personal wellness goals ironically has helped me see how much they intertwine and how both elements must be well for either to be sustainable. When Josh died, I turned to work and running as my outlets because they were elements where I could feel like I had some form of control. As a result, my wellness and perception of what was a healthy work/life balance became skewed. Court and my relationship suffered and I filled the day with busy instead of intent. During our last month with Mom, time and in a way everything else paused. Court became a single parent, I took time off work, and all that mattered was each day we were given. My grief and my gratitude for the quality time and gifts I had from each day spent with Josh and Mom are where I now am working to find grace for myself as I consider the impact I have on others.

Part of my wellness goal is to find joy in the things that once brought me confidence and pride. With Courtney’s continued support, I am working towards the goal of running a full marathon this summer. I have a long way to go to bring my health back to where I once was, but at the same time, my hope is to now do so in a more balanced way – this time also being aware Emma is watching every move I make. @theplantedrunner in her post reflects on the need to develop the skill to both hold back and hold on.

In October we celebrate the day Emma officially became a Tyree. I took the day off and was able to read with her class and have lunch with her at school, but instead of wanting to do something with me after school she chose to go with friends. I was both proud of her for having close friends and sad that I was no longer her first pick. Days like this, I often find myself wanting to call my mom for advice, but know the way she chose to live her life was her advice. She was a master of holding back and holding on.

In general, it seems that shadows often receive a negative connotation. They are allusive, mischievous, grey, and dark; however, they are also a curiosity as they only exist as a result of the light in our lives. It reminds me of Cody Jinx’s song “Grey” which challenges us to “rediscover the colors in the grey.” This juxtaposition of light and darkness, color and grey both fitting for so many analogies about life as it is the need for both to exist in balance.

As the fall transitions to winter, here is to the next round of goals, adventures, and to each day I am given to make an impact.

Last month a coworker said “you should write a blog about what you thought this job would be and what it is.” I hesitated for a moment before realizing she didn’t know that I actually write a blog – although not specifically about what I thought my job would be and what is – but more so as a way for me to stay connected to Josh’s memory through my growth in grief and grace. I laughed and said I would think about it, but her prompt made me pause to reflect on what all I have learned as well as to consider how much more I have yet to learn. This year has brought a number of new moments and situations that although schooled in, I had never experienced. Similar to my first year of grief, my emotions felt raw and very little was comfortable. However, unlike grief, this new unknown was a challenge I had requested and as a result, I have tried to keep my focus on the same promise I made to myself about processing grief to live in William Borden’s words of no reserves, no retreats, no regrets.”

I have been working to no longer think of the “what I thought would bes” in contrast to the “what ares,” but more simply that they are a part of me and my story. Clearly this confidence that grief and growth can be one in the same is still something I am working to develop. During our final staff luncheon, I shared how much I appreciate each member of our staff and their commitment to make each moment – even the most challenging – count. I passed out print offs of Marge Piercy’s “To Be Of Use” and celebrated how as a collective whole we were able to make this year successful. I became tearful as I reflected on the impact both my mom’s life and my mom’s passing had on the way I try to view the chances we given to impact others for the positive.

The poem reminds me of the resilient work ethic and outlook on challenges my mom committed herself to. Even when things were hard, Mom harnessed herself to finding a better way forward. After the meeting, I caught myself second guessing what I had shared realizing I was being vulnerable with staff which was something I had actively worked to limit during the year. Brene Brown’s research on shame and courage bounced back and forth in my head as I tried to determine if I was being appropriately vulnerable or if it was my fear of looking weak that was driving my insecurity. The need to have clear boundaries between myself and my work has been one of the elements that has felt necessary to build armor around myself for the position in which I need to serve my school but also so challenging as in each interaction I must respond vs react. At one point after a hard moment, a teacher reminded me that “it is ok, you get to be human, too.” I didn’t have the heart to explain that I understood but it was the human part that makes it hurt.

This spring Josh would have turned thirteen. His birthday is a day we intentionally filled with love and joyful things, yet it is a day where the “what I thought would have been” and the “what is” feel a little more jarring. In May, Emma and I ran the 5K for the Run for Heaven’s Sake. It was strange to not host the Joshua Tyree Half Marathon but like most things this year, although it felt a little different, it was time for a change. As Emma read the names of the baby loss families at the finish line, she pointed as she read a name she knew and ran to her brother’s sign. Her innocence, love and kindness continue to inspire me.

This weekend Courtney and I will celebrate Father’s Day and our anniversary on the same day. Looking through my 2018 post Baby Steps from a similarly emotional weekend provides a benchmark for how we (and Emma) have grown over the years. When we said “I do” in 2007, we never could have imagined the journey we would begin together. During our final days with Josh, we promised each other and our handsome little man that we would take care of each of each other. Courtney and my love for one another is even more strong and resilient than when we said our vows seventeen years ago.

A mentor likened a first year as an administrator to your first year of marriage. I agree the analogy fits. I know our marriage takes both of us giving everything we have and it is filled with both joy and hardships, yet it is through all the moments that we make memories. I look at the father Courtney was to Josh and is to Emma and my heart is happy. They are a dynamic duo and our adventures together are only just beginning.

I have been told that when I was five and not getting my way that I would hold my breath until I would pass out or my parents would blow air at my face to make me take a breath. My dad shared I would go limp, then come to breathing normally. I have always prided myself in my stubbornness, but now, as a parent, I cannot imagine how scary these moments must have been for them. I painfully remember when Josh would have a seizure being held captive by my helplessness. At first, as new parents, we found excuses for his behavior thinking a loud noice or something unclear to us must have spooked his sporadic movement. Looking through the pictures from this time we were so innocent and hopeful – never once thinking they were a signal to us there was more triggering his body to react this way. Later, after learning Menkes Disease was at the root of his body’s response, I was only able to find peace knowing the doctors had assured us he wasn’t in pain during these episodes.

Emma, when fevering, has night terrors. Like Josh’s seizures she has no choice, clarity or control in these moments. She wakes screaming and terrified of something very real in her altered reality. Nights we know she will wake in this state reminds me of the nights I laid half awake/half asleep listening to the sounds of the oxygen tank knowing my alarm would go off and I would need to be alert to administer Josh’s medication or use the suction machine so he could again continue in his slumber. We joke that my ability to sleep on cue was a gift Josh gave me, so too is the ability to be half awake while sleeping. After Josh died, my grief coupled with exhaustion led me to sleep for long periods. I never seemed to feel rested. As I found running as an outlet and connected more clearly with friends through it soon I realizing a run could be just as restorative as rest.

To say this school year has raced by is a bit of an understatement. My first year as an administrator and first year in an elementary school after 17 years in secondary education feels like training on a treadmill, but not being in control of the settings. One moment I am slowly climbing a gradual incline, the next the pace and incline crank and I find myself sprinting uphill to keep myself from flying off the track, then the settings switch and I again am able to find my stride. Daily, I have been working to ground myself remembering each day presents an opportunity to learn and grow in grace as I progress towards my goal to make each day count. I explained this to a coworker similar to an athlete’s responsibility as my friend Debra always said to “better the ball” with each opportunity one has to touch the the game ball. So too in life do I have the choice to better each moment through my connections.

In a post, @stevemagness shared “Only 8% of people stick with their New Year’s resolution” and identified “9 evidence-based rules to set goals that help instead or hinder.” Rule #4 helps me rethink about how I identify progress towards growth as it notes the need to make progress possible. As I reflect on both my personal and professional goals this year, this concept helps me evaluate the progress I have made and to adjust my perception on how I will face challenges that are yet to come as a first year administrator as well as in my personal life as a spouse, parent, sister, and daughter.

It has been two years since Mom died. I miss her guidance, her laugh, and most of all – her. I have been listening to Sally McRae’s powerfully written Choose Strong on my solo long runs. McRae notes, “Being strong wasn’t about how smooth my performance was, it was about how I responded to every setback along the course. I could choose to be strong, and still have a limp, and I could win, despite a rough journey.… I didn’t win because I had a perfectly executed race, and I didn’t win because I was better than anyone else. I won, because I chose to keep going in spite of the setbacks. I believed in myself, and I released what I couldn’t control; and I kept hope at the forefront of every step. When things got especially uncomfortable, I gave myself one choice. Choose to be strong or choose to give up.” My mom is the strongest woman I know. She taught me how to love unconditionally and how even when the cards are stacked to play your hand like it will always come out on top. She was strong and courageous and full of grace.

I had the opportunity to travel recently with a group of principals to California. I was anxious heading into the trip realizing I knew very little about the women I was traveling with and they knew little of me. We flew out on my birthday and I shared that I will forever be a youngest child who loves my birthday. The trip down was a comedy of errors, but we made the most of the day. On a layover we shared stories of pregnancy and after sharing mine, one of them asked “where is your son now?” I found myself sharing our story, the moments of joy and vulnerability when my greatest fear was childbirth as well as all the lessons I have learned of hope, grace, and grief since that first year.

The purpose of our trip was to gain “Teacher Clarity Playbook”certification which centers around the popularized statement from Brene Brown that “Clear is kind. Unclear is unkind.” Over the course of our time together we not only gained certification, but also a new understanding and deeper respect for one another. The time with these courageously strong women, like a long run with old friends, gave me new clarity and balance of purpose and practice. We laughed more in the four days than I think I have all year. This laughter and meaningful connections refueled me for the challenges ahead. Pausing to snap a photo of a pink crown of thorns against a California palm tree sunset, I took a breath and stood thankful for moments and memories.

Courtney noted this week “since becoming a principal you’ve become more reflective.” His observation made me aware that although I feel I have always been reflective, this year, unlike others I have found myself more conscious of the impact my choices have on those around me. I am also more aware of the moments when I have no control and as it is no longer appropriate for me to throw a tantrum, I instead have to ground myself in grace and as McRae notes “choose strong” for Josh, for Mom, for Emma and for me.

A fifth grade student recently asked me “What is the hardest grade?” After a few clarifying questions I reached the conclusion that she was curious if the grade she was in is the most challenging or would there be more challenges yet to come. I shared that in my experience each level has its own version of “hard” because we are continuing to learn new things and being pushed in ways we didn’t know we were going to be challenged by. @drcarolineleaf appropriately notes the mindset transition we experience as “speak from your scars not your wounds. Speak from a place of healing, not hurt.”

The transitions we make as adults are similar to our grade levels in school. Each presents it’s own level of challenge, but in its own uniquely hard way and hopefully as a result of our learned experience, we are better equipped to handle the challenges that come. Working with students, discussing growth mindset and a need to learn from moments of struggle seems natural. They are growing and learning; yet, as adults we often overlook the same advice holds true.

In schools, we use the term transition to indicate the transfer either in physical or mental space from one activity to another. Our students often find these moments of change (although often brief in nature) the most upsetting and troubling part of the day. As I consider my own transitions, I feel this turbulence as I learn how to re-learn and grow through tough moments. Becky DuFour once stated “clarity precedes confidence.” During time of transition it is this lack of clarity that I find needing to hold the most to my faith in the journey. Some days I swim strongly in spite of the learning tide. Other days, I find myself a stick caught in a muddy river bank of a fixed mindset which feels slightly oxymoronic in a career culture dedicated to growth.

Grace and grief, like learning, bring transitions: wisdom through challenges and strength through resilience. My grief catches me at unexpected moments. In this way it is more raw and complex than the transitions I am experiencing in my professional life. As a learner, I accept I need to endure productive struggle, yet, personally I am unsure when to let my guard down. Afraid to allow others into my story for fear my vulnerability will be viewed as a characteristic of weakness or inability. When someone from my new community asks how many kids I have, I catch myself before I answer with “one.” My response determined by my ability to process my vulnerability. The other day after introducing myself to a parent, she greeted me by stating “I know you. You are Josh’s mom, right?” My personal and professional blurred and I found myself speechless only able to wipe my eye, catch my breath and nod yes.

On what would have been Mom’s 73rd birthday, all I wanted was to seek out goodness in life and people. The morning sky was bursting with color and I sang along with Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” on my drive to work. I learned a staff member who exemplifies kindness shares her birthday. I find it fitting they are kindred spirits. I shared with a colleague that it was a hard day and she acknowledged that we never know when grief will hit us but she too thanks her mom for beautiful sunrises. That night I enjoyed a birthday cupcake and sang happy birthday into the clear, crisp, star filled November sky.

Emma is learning and growing daily. Her energy for life and curiosity to learn new things is contagious. The other day in a parking lot she asked me to stop and “take a picture of the heart.” I looked around confused and she said in her all knowing six year old tone, “the one on the ground, Mom.” I love her ability to see beauty even in an icy parking lot. Daily, she reminds me to pause and take in the simple goodness of time together.

Today on the anniversary of Josh’s angel day, I will spend the day reflecting on the moments of goodness we shared. I am humbled by the power of our community both then and now. Thankful for those who gave us the gift of time well spent and who continue to support us by cherishing his memory now. Thank you for being a part of his and our story. He was our handsome man. His silly smile melted our hearts.

In Curious, Courageous, and Confident I reflected that “My search for grace in grief parallels change…As I move into this next stage, I hope to continue to be curious, courageous, and confident so when all is said and done, I have made each day, even the hard ones, count.” True, this was a goal for the year, but it holds value for my outlook on the days and time I am given. Now, over third of the way through the school year and years after Josh’s passing, I feel pressured to have already mastered my learning. I often grow frustrated with myself when I don’t have the answers. I can say, honestly, I am learning and growing every day. I am thankful for the love and support Courtney and I share as we continue our journey. As we head into 2024, I know there will be more moments of transition, but am confident every memory will be worth making together.

The past five months have been a chaotic mix of reflection, transition, and change. During an interview debrief with one of my supervisors, he reminded me to be patient. Discussing the future and my goal to serve as an elementary administrator, he asked what it was that filled my cup. I said my family and knowing at the end of the day my time was well spent.

In February, I ran a half marathon in the snow at Seeley Lake with my friend Holly. Run may be a relative term; however, we accomplished our goal, and we made it to the finish line. The icy road conditions forced us to slow down. Slowing down allowed me to look around and enjoy the scenery. It was one of the best gifts I could’ve been given as I enter my 40s. Too often, I am caught in the desire to please others, to rush ahead, to get the job done regardless of the stakes or the views I miss along the way.

In March, we celebrated Emma’s sixth birthday. Watching her celebrate with her friends and cousins reminded me of the pure excitement of birthdays. She is at a stage of curiosity. She is learning how to place letters into words, words into sentences, and working out kindergarten math problems. With each puzzle, I can see her making sense of new concepts. She loves singing and listening to music of all kinds. She is strong willed, fiercely independent and every day is a new adventure. She loved kindergarten and can hardly wait for school to start in August.

On a sunny Saturday morning in April, I walked across the RMC graduation stage. For the past nine months, every Tuesday I have gathered with a cohort of fifteen teachers to complete our Master of Educational Leadership. Each cohort member left an impression on me personally and professionally. The commencement speaker charged us to go into our next adventure refusing to be victims, to always be kind, and make the best of each moment. To me, and many from our cohort, it felt like a cautionary tale of daily life in education.

Graduation morning I sat in a coffee shop working on my homework and feeling sorry for myself. I was frustrated that I had to work on a day that should be a celebration. When a colleague walked in, I vented to her about my morning. Later, in response to my generic “how are you?” she quietly replied that her husband had passed earlier that week. It stopped me in my selfish rant. It made me feel foolish. It is hard to remember perspective when all I focus on is my own. Josh would have turned twelve this March. The way I approach change and challenges reflect my search for balance and grace in grief. Yet, as I tell my story, I need to remember to slow down and listen to others who are on this path.

In May, Courtney and I both ran the Joshua Tyree Half Marathon. It was just shy of 8 months post his accident. Courtney’s ability to push himself physically and mentally is absolutely amazing. We have helped organize the race for a number of years and the Ramsey Keller Memorial kindly named the half marathon in honor of Josh. Together, Courtney and I made the choice to have this be the last year for Josh’s race. It was not a lighthearted decision as we (and our community) have poured our hearts into the race each year. However, we know decisions made together are stronger and the Ramsey Keller Memorial will continue to support families for years to come.

The week following the race, I interviewed and received placement to serve as an elementary principal. During my last week at Skyview, I was struggling. I was trying to do too many things and not feeling like I was doing any of them well. My friend Jordan let me vent for a minute and then just simply said “change is hard.” His naming of my emotions was what I needed in the moment to pause and be patient. I hadn’t even realized I was struggling with transitioning from a school I had taught in for fifteen years and a career I had grown comfortable in. I was holding tight to believing everything would be ok if I just pretended like it was. I am working on being more confident accepting change and recognizing that as Joellen Killion notes in chapter two of the text “Each change allowed me to become more than what I was.”

In June, we celebrated so many major moments from the year with a special family trip to Seattle for a few nights and then a little over a week in Hawaii.

We planned one fancy meal out for our anniversary (Emma rocked a princess dress and held her own with two sushi rolls and tuna tacos at Morimoto Maui) our only true plan was to rest, recover, and celebrate all we had accomplished in the year:

• Entering our 40s
• Emma completing her first year of school
• Court’s recovery from his accident
• Court’s fifteen year mark as FWP Game Warden
• Master of Educational Leadership
• New job as an elementary principal
• Sixteen years of marriage
• Father’s Day
• Debt free (including the house) as we made our last payment together on the beach and Emma did a debt free scream #daveramsey

Watching Court and Emma play in the waves refilled my cup. I thought about how much my mom loved water and would have had the biggest smile watching Emma swim and snorkel in the ocean. I wrote Josh’s name in the sand. As the water washed it away it brought me peace instead of sadness.

Too often I get caught up in being busy. If my schedule is full, so too must be my heart. Yet, I am starting to accept that it is the slow or quiet moments that are often more meaningful. At Skyview’s graduation one of our student speakers shared the need for “flexible stability” in our lives. He is headed to fly fighter jets next year, but his message holds true for us all now. My search for grace in grief parallels change. I need to be more flexible in my stability. Each day, I learn to keep going by reminding myself to listen and be patient. As I move into this next stage, I hope to continue to be curious, courageous, and confident so when all is said and done, I have made each day, even the hard ones, count.