I wrote the following during my five and a half hour lay-over in Nashville. It was 1 o'clock in the morning, so it probably doesn't make much sense. In fact I don't even know why I'm posting it. I'll post later and tell y'all about my trip.
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What does one write when you don't know what to write and yet have been feeling the need to write something about it for weeks? I really don't know what I'm writing. All I know is that it hurts.

It hurts. Such pathetic words. The same thing I say when I get a papercut.

I can still see exactly how she was sitting there on the Floor. The outside sides of her feet on the carpet, her knees spread apart, her elbows resting on them, her fingers holding on to each other. Her hair was streaked and let down. She looked zonked. Everything about her said one thing: tired.

In fact I even asked her about it. Something along the lines of "Tamera, are you alright? You look terrible!"

It's strange how you remember some things and not others. I don't remember much about teaching floor that night. But I remember almost exactly teaching bar with her.

Teaching bar with Tamera was always fun. She didn't teach bar like the other teachers: she always seemed to have some new little thing for the girls. She was cheerful and relaxed when teaching bar and we would have an unhurried conversation: about five minutes of talking strected into twenty minutes 'cause we would only talk while waiting for the next kid.

That night we talked about the trouble she was having with her boyfriend. First thing she said was "I don't think I like boys anymore." I asked her why she had decided she didn't like one half the population of the earth and she laughed.

Am I going anywhere with this? I have no idea.

For conditioning that day she had the girls hand from the low bar and hold a tuck as she counted to ten. I can still remember how bug-eyed Kendel got as Tamera counted. And as soon as she had gone to the next station Tamera did the same thing for twice as long. Tamera loved bar. She would always jump up and do something while waiting for the next kid.

She had invited me to come to youth group with her the Sunday before she died. I told her no, not this time, maybe in two weeks.

After we taught bar we went to tramp. It was while teaching tramp that we had first started getting to know each other. Now, whenever we do jump rope on tramp I think about how that night she told her pet peeve was people not putting the jump ropes away properly. I'm always careful to put them back just like she wanted it.

The last I remember of her everybody was sitting on the floor by the beam. Tamera had the cards and was calling off the kids names while I put a stamp on their hands.

Next time I saw her it was only her body, laying in the coffin. Oh Tamera, why didn't you go home and get some sleep?! Why didn't you sit down during tramp at least? I could have taught it by myself! Oh Tamera, why couldn't you have stayed awake for just a few more minutes?!?

It hurts.