Wednesday 20 August 2003

I had broken up with other women before, but I had never known the meaning of the word "estrangement" until my last two weeks with Kari. As badly as Dad took the news, Catherine was even more crushed. She loved Kari. She couldn't understand it... the last time she saw us we laughed, played, and worked as a family. Little did Cathy (or I) know, that was to be the last happy day Kari and I would spend together.

As far as where to turn for strength? My family was supportive, but 230 miles away. The three adults to whom I turned from school showed apathy or laughter. So I went to the closest people who cared... my students. My classroom was known as a place to talk before and after school, and when students filed in they could see in my face something was desperately wrong. I shared my story with former students who'd come in to see me and with my Algebra II class (all juniors and seniors). I spared my freshmen the details.

One of the first to hear was Renee. A senior preparing her way to study art in college, she worked in order to save enough money to spend the upcoming summer climbing the Alps and hitchhiking through Europe. The year before Renee had given me a CD of songs she'd thought I'd like (one I've probably played more often than any CD I own) and the most infamous toy in my classroom, the Count-A-Pillar. Upon hearing the story of my disastrous weekend, Renee returned the following morning with the gifts of a book to cheer me and of this letter:

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