It’s officially the last day of the school year. The halls grow quieter with every goodbye. In fact, there never was a single goodbye, at least for me.

I’ve always been a lone wolf - used to the silence, familiar with the stillness. As an Administrative Officer, I find strength most times in our incredible Non-Teaching Team. But as a Counselor, I often stand alone.

When the laughter fades and my office empty, I’m left with the echoes of stories shared, tears wiped, battles fought in silence. And now, once again, I find myself alone - carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken prayers for the young hearts I’ve journeyed with, wondering if I made even a tiny difference.

Another school year ends. I stay.

So many years in this calling, and still the unspoken goodbyes never get easier.

The Chair I Return To..

They walk across the stage -

faces lit with dreams,

hearts racing toward tomorrows

they once feared would never come.

And I smile.

Because I knew them when they couldn’t smile at all.

Their names are called,

and the applause rings loud -

as it should.

They’ve earned this moment.

But as they step into the light,

I fade gently back into the shadows.

Not bitter,

just… quieter.

Because this is the part they never see:

the moment after the last goodbye,

when the room grows still,

and the echoes of their laughter

become ghosts I learn to live with.

They walk across the stage into the world -

and I return to my chair,

quietly beginning again

with the next soul who needs to be seen.

That chair has known more grief than most stages.

It’s held the weight of stories no diploma could ever carry -

silent tears, whispered fears,

and hearts held together by hope alone.

And still, I stay.

Again and again.

And again.

Letting them go,

knowing they might never look back.

Because that’s the burden and the beauty of this calling -

to be left behind

so others can move forward.

And yes, it hurts.

Every time.

But I endure it -

because somewhere down the road,

maybe one of them will pause

in the middle of their busy, beautiful life

and remember:

the room,

the voice,

the someone who tried his best

to be a steady presence..

the someone who asked for nothing,

but gave everything.

And for that one moment -

I’ll be whole again.

They Never Knew

They came to be helped.

Battered by life, broken by love, searching for answers in the quiet corners of a room where words are whispered, not shouted.

They sat across from me, eyes heavy with things they couldn’t name,

hearts carrying storms they didn’t know how to weather.

They thought I was the one holding the map.

That I knew the way through the darkness.

That I was the helper.

But in truth..

they were the ones who held the gentle light my spirit had lost sight of.

With every trembling story, with every silence that begged to be heard, with every brave unraveling of pain -

I was the one quietly stitched back together.

They never saw the cracks in me.

I hid them well.

But in holding space for their healing, somehow, the light slipped through and found mine.

They came to be saved,

and yet it was their rawness that rescued me.

Their truth became my tether.

Their resilience - my reflection.

So now, I carry this sacred irony with me:

that in giving, I was given.

That in helping them rise, I, too, stood again.

They came to be helped..

and never once knew they were helping me all along.

Me, After the Pause

It’s been three years since I last blogged.

My journey with blogging began in 2009 - on and off for about 13 years. That space held everything and anything about my life. I started it in the hope that someday, my daughter would read it and understand who I was, especially when I’m no longer around.

I never thought I’d return to blogging. But here I am.

This time, I’m letting go of the old and embracing a new perspective. A quiet rebirth.

Because the truth is, I’ve lived more in the last five years than I did in the previous forty. And with that, comes the need to tell new stories.

To you who's reading this - welcome, and thank you.

Let’s see where this takes us.

Chase time with me.