Wow. What happened?

One day, I walk into an interview for a job at a homeless clinic. Next, I’m shedding blood, sweat, and tears. I use lots and lots of paper. Then I’m driving away from a farewell party, my hands sticky with gingery berry juice. The program ends. New friends disperse across the country.

This is oddly sudden. On the one hand, I’ve planned on the end date from the beginning. On the other, too many new distractions arrive in the same two weeks: moving, school, Grandpa’s lump, my own lump. I get out of my apartment with my second sloppiest move ever. Friends pack and haul all five hundred square feet while I lamely hold my arm at my side. The landlord keeps fifty dollars to clean the oven. I barely succeed at community college registration. So far, I’ve settled for one class online and the wait list for another. Squeezing in quality time with grandpa has been angering and rewarding. I watch him twist the doctor’s words into better news. I also teach him the five stages of grief. Then there’s the business of Lumpy, my own body’s unwelcome new growth. If anyone ever tells you to get a needle biopsy or mentions anything about gadolinium, punch them in the face. Lumpy is now officially a benign fibroid, thank you very much. Grandpa’s prognosis, however, is aggressive and he’ll be starting chemotherapy soon.

The first week after the program, I was taking two naps a day and couldn’t wake up before 10am. Anyone else do better? There have been a lot of radiologists, babies, baby bumps, and a duodenal surgery. Never mind exiting the program with so many distractions. Exhausted from a marathon, I’ve learned that I’m actually in a triatholon. Getting a job has been overwhelming. And people’s innocent “what’s next?” questions make me want to throw up.

On Thursday, I park outside the dental building, knowing that this time there won’t be a snarky Jon comment about my car. I walk into The Office, no longer greeted by my favorite Meredith/Gemma/Alex/Imani/WhoElse smiles. That’s where I find the grief unique to the ending of the program. I finally get to miss you all. It’s a victory in this chaos.

I'm starting a creative housing-work exchange in September, living with a woman declining from lung disease. Tomorrow is a job interview. Class(es) start in a couple of weeks and my spotless report card will lead to nursing school application(s) in December. I can’t wait to hear from the rest of you.

--Summer