By spring, life had shifted. Challenges swept in, affecting not only me but my 10-year-old daughter, who faced each change with more courage than I sometimes felt I had. What I once believed was stable began to unravel.

Yet even in the hardest weeks, there were bright spots. My three older boys were building lives of their own, and watching them take flight gave me strength. My oldest son, especially, happily in love, traveling, exploring, reminded me that joy still existed, even if it looked different than I expected.

Teaching has always been my anchor, my purpose, the work that made me come alive. I poured my heart into my students. I pursued higher education to become an even better educator. But then, unexpectedly and painfully, the job I loved was taken from me. I had to walk away from the one place where I felt most myself. And with that loss came confusion, disappointment, and heartbreak. I questioned everything, the system, the decisions made behind closed doors, the ethics that should protect both teachers and students but too often fall short.

Still, in every ending there is a doorway. Mine appeared in the form of a Master of Public Administration program, something I hadn’t planned, but now feel profoundly grateful for. In those classes, I encountered leaders who value ethics, fairness, and humanity. People who reminded me why leadership matters and why integrity is not optional, but essential.

Writing became another lifeline. Words that had slept inside me for years began to rise, poems, songs, memories. They spilled onto pages until I realized I was writing a book: my story, my teaching journey, my research, and everything education has meant to me. It felt like rediscovering lost pieces of myself.

Then came a moment of validation: UPAC made the right and fair decision that allowed me to continue teaching. That decision restored something precious in me, my trust, my hope, my belief in justice.

And through all of this, the parents of my students in Park City held me up. Their texts, prayers, kindness, and steadfast belief in me carried me through the darkest season I’ve ever faced. And in the center of that support was Dr. Emily, my anchor, my clarity, my quiet miracle in the storm. Their compassion lit the way when everything else felt dim. They became my lanterns in the dark.

This Thanksgiving, I honor them with the poem I wrote, born from gratitude and the deep awareness that I did not walk this journey alone.

A Thanksgiving of Gratitude

In the quiet hours of doubt,

when the road grew heavy beneath my feet,

your voices rose like lanterns in the dark,

steady, warm, unwavering.

You carried me with kindness

when my own strength felt thin,

and your faith in who I am

became the bridge that held me up.

To the parents,

your trust was a shelter,

your prayers, a soft wind pushing me forward.

You reminded me that community

is not just a word we speak,

but a heart that beats around us

when we need it most.

And to Dr. Emily Hagn

my guiding light in the storm,

you saw the truth when shadows tried to speak.

Your wisdom, your patience, your grace

they became my calm,

my compass,

my angel in human form.

Today, as Thanksgiving draws near,

my gratitude overflows.

Not because the trial has ended,

but because of the love that carried me through it.

Because of people like you

who chose compassion over distance,

faith over fear,

and kindness over silence.

May this season wrap each of you

in the same warmth you offered me.

May your homes be filled with peace,

your tables with joy,

and your hearts with the certainty

that you made a difference,

a difference I will never forget.

With all my gratitude,

and every blessing this Thanksgiving brings.

As the holiday arrives, I carry with me the lessons of this year:

that community is stronger than fear,

that integrity still has champions,

and that even in loss, we can rise toward something new.

This Thanksgiving, I am grateful, deeply, wholeheartedly, for the love that carried me here.

Mari Rabadan is a teacher, poet, songwriter, and current Master of Public Administration graduate student who lives in Provo. She is the founder of FLLLE: La Literatura Libera y Empodera, an organization dedicated to empowerment through literature. Writing serves as her pathway to healing and sharing truths. Her life, work, and art are deeply rooted in education, community, and resilience.