“I Was Here”

“I was here, I lived, I loved

I was here, I did, I've done everything that I wanted

And it was more than I thought it would be

I will leave my mark so everyone will know I was here

I just want them to know

That I gave my all, did my best

Brought someone some happiness

Left this world a little better just because I was here”

--Beyoncé, “I Was Here”

10-2-2019. The power this picture has. The potential. One day our adoring fans will find this and quake. 

Shout out to this Seventeen article that suggested this song—which I’d never heard before but am now obsessed with.

5-12-2020. My desk hasn't looked like this in over a year.
 I guess it's fitting that it's a poster of Ophelia, because
this is pretty tragic.

I cleaned out my office today, and, to really embrace my emotional masochism, I turned on my playlist with all the songs from this blog. As expected, I cried. Several times. And now my desk looks just like it did when I first saw it almost 2 years ago. It’s almost like I was never there. And that, maybe more than anything, is my biggest fear. I’m terrified of being forgotten. Nick said in the Snapchat group that my “spirit” will always be in that cubicle, and, God, I hope that’s true.

Sometimes I feel like Alexander Hamilton—a little too obsessed with my legacy: “If I throw away my shot, is this how you'll remember me? / What if this bullet is my legacy? / Legacy, what is a legacy? / It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.” But I just want them to remember who started the garden and why. It’s why I want to take pictures all the time. It’s why I jumped on Mikayla’s idea for the “Expos Library” bulletin board in the bullpen. It’s why I’m writing this blog and making that yearbook that I’ve been bugging you all for pictures for. I want people to remember me and to remember that I cared.

8-20-2019. We certainly left our mark on SAGE,didn't we?
Katie-Cady 2020 and forever!

Maybe it’s because I study literature, and I’ve seen what words can do. I mean, we read Chaucer from 650 years ago! I joked about mortality and immortality in yesterday’s post, but I can’t lie and say that there’s nothing appealing about living forever. If we could all be immortal together, I’d take that in a heartbeat. But maybe being remembered is a nice compromise. Like, I’ll live my 70-100 years (or however many I get) to the fullest, because I know it’s a finite amount of time, but maybe my grandchildren or great children will find one of my jump drives and plug it into a dusty “antique” laptop and look at these things that I’ve written—poems and journals and letters and half-finished stories—and I won’t be gone.

For me, that’s what “I Was Here” is trying to say. It’s a statement that, yes, I existed, and I took up space, and I did something. That’s one of the reasons I’m so excited to have my name on that teaching award plaque; it’s tangible evidence that I existed here. Even after Karin and Phil and the Annes retire, even when they eventually are forced to redo the English building, they’ll keep that shiny plaque with my name on it, even when they have no idea who I am. And that’s really comforting in some ways.

2-7-2020. A classic roommate pose from 4 of the
classiest women I know. Let's recreate this in 10 years,
okay?

Unfortunately, though, I’m not Beyoncé—as if anyone could be. I can’t say that I’ve done everything I wanted. For me, there’s always one more thing. Much like Angelica Schuyler, I will never be satisfied. I still want to be published. I want to win a national award. I want to be invited to be a keynote speaker somewhere. And I think that part of the reason we all get along so well is because you guys also have big dreams. We’re not complacent. We’re not afraid of growth, and we’re not afraid to work as hard as we have to for it. (Many of us are afraid of change, but that’s a slightly different thing, I think.) I think we tend to get frustrated with people who don’t take initiative, too. Sure, we’ll complain about things—Practicum and class and deadlines and students and grading and the state of the world—but we always pull back, put our noses to the grindstone, and get it done. I think that’s something to be proud of, and I hope you’re all recognized for that someday. I hope you get all your dreams.

The good news is that I have a pretty good memory. I can remember the names of nurses that took care of me in the hospital when I was diagnosed with diabetes 8 years ago. (For example, everyone just called Rachel Horton “Horton” because there were two “Rachels” in that rotation, and she told me that I didn’t look like an ICU patient. This was while I was still in the PICU and they were trying to decide whether I could be moved to a regular room. Then there was Jenna, who always called me Kathy; and Jessica, the diabetes educator who remembered my dad from JSU, talked to me like I was a dumb five-year-old, and insisted that I would die—or at least lose my foot—if I ever walked around barefoot again; and Whitney the nutritionist who [very wrongly] told me that “most people don’t eat a full serving of things like rice,” so I think about her whenever I make rice.) That whole aside to say that I’ll remember each of you. I hope you don’t worry about your legacies as much as I do, but, if you do, let me just go ahead and say that you’ve made a difference to me. My life is definitely better because you were in it.

 

2-23-2020. You all have given me so much to remember. You shine so, so brightly, and I know that you'll just keep spreading your light to everyone you meet. I'm so thankful that our paths crossed.

I tried to say it at Christmas, but there are parts of you that I’ll take with me forever:

Mikayla, you’ve opened my eyes to the whole world of trauma and recovery; you’ve helped me loved people better.

Jacque, for every feeling I’ve had that I thought was “weird” or “wrong,” you’ve told me it’s not and that I’m allowed to feel that way; it’s such a comfort I can be vulnerable with you.

Lexi, because of you, I’m bolder; I’ll never be able to break and bend the “rules” of academia like you do, but you make me want to try.

Rebecca, you’ve shown me how to speak like I deserve to be in every room I walk into—because I do.

Molly's legacy is going to be these incredible GIFs. And I'lll never forget all
the laughter. 

Cailey, you’ve completely changed how I think about Southern California; it’s not all surfers and airheads; it’s full of people who are brilliant and kind and accepting and visionary.

V, your writing is so raw and visceral, and it makes me want to write about those things, too—and the way you put that writing out into the world makes me want to take more chances.

Nick, you’ve made me not take myself so seriously, and you’ve made me feel like it’s okay to ask for help (even if I still don’t do it as often as I should).

Dustin, I have so much respect for you as a writer, scholar, friend, and person, and you never fail to amaze me with your capacity for forgiveness and encouragement; you’ve reminded me that my “bull-in-a-china-shop” approach to love isn’t always the best method, that I could stand to be more gentle.

Molly, you are the epitome of a loyal Hufflepuff, and it’s reminded me why friendships are worth investing in.

Noelle, you’ll call me on my overdramatic BS and tell me to get a Ph.D. in Taylor Swift all in the same conversation, and I’ll always be grateful to you for keeping me honest.

I hope that you guys don’t go through life second-guessing if you’re doing it “right.” So much is uncertain right now, but I can guarantee that you will be remembered so fondly by the people who love you—and I feel so lucky to count myself amongst them. 

Love ∞,

Me