Tara and I didn't always see eye to eye when it came to how we wanted to get something completed, but we both wanted to make the best course that we could. At times, our working relationship could be contentious, but that was in the past. These past five years, we became very close, and our friendship meant a great deal to me. As my project manager, I worked with her nearly every day to get a great deal of work completed. I am the production lead and AD for the courses of two of our largest partners, and she made sure I had what the team and I needed to address our sizable workload. She was no slouch herself and kept a countless number of plates spinning at all times, even after her diagnosis.
Some would have given up, some would have retired, but not Tara. Throughout her battle with cancer, she was ever-present, ever active, and always here for the team. There were some scares and worrisome weeks, but she always bounced back. She always made it through. She joked that her times in the hospital were her involuntary vacations. We knew that she was on limited time. We knew she wouldn't be here forever. But now wasn't the time. Not yet.
While some of the team and I were at SXSW, Tara lost her battle with cancer. She leaves a massive gulf in all of our lives. One that will not be filled easily or soon. The ripples of her absence seem to extend out endlessly. I owe Tara a great deal. Her last gift to me was making sure I was part of the group going to SXSW. She knew, she knew it would likely have a profound effect on me, and it did. She would always want to hear all about my conventions and when we would travel. The cruel twist is that I have so much to tell here about SXSW, but I will never be able to. She supported my writing and my art and backed my first book. She even gave copies as gifts. She touched all of us at the center and nearly all of the child care educational networks of this state and beyond. Her life's work was to protect and educate children, and we will continue that work.
When word went out that there was an emergency meeting on a Saturday morning, I had first thought it was about funding cuts, partners leaving, or even all of us losing our jobs. But my thoughts were never on Tara. It wasn't her time. She was fighting back home. She prepared for it all. We are still receiving messages, emails, and alerts she had scheduled in advance. Our biweekly huddles are scheduled through the end of the year. She is a ghost in the machine now. A digital echo of a person who touched so many others.
I miss my friend.
