Monday Morning

April 21, 2026

Monday morning.

I sat there getting ready to send my retirement notice to my Supervisor. The cursor blinked. It feels heavier than it should, like it understands what this moment carries.

It was harder than I expected.

There was a strange mix of emotions sitting just beneath the surface. Gratitude for the years, the work, the people. Pride in what was done and what was endured, and something quieter, harder to name. The realization that a chapter I once thought would define me is now something I am choosing to close.

On the radio, Pig by Dave Matthews Band comes on, and then the line hits:

All good things must come to an end sometime… oh, but don’t burn the day away.

It landed differently.

This is not an ending built on regret. It is not walking away from something broken. It is stepping away while there is still meaning in it, while the memories are still good, while the work still matters.

But my life is not defined by the work that I have done.

It is only one chapter, not the whole story. The job shaped me, tested me, and gave me a sense of purpose for a long time. It introduced me to people who became part of my life in ways I never expected. It gave me moments I will carry forever. But it does not get to write the ending.

There is more to me than the cases, the titles, the years of service. There are the quiet mornings, the time with family, the trails I have yet to walk, the conversations I have not had, the parts of life that were sometimes pushed aside in the name of the mission. Those parts are still there, waiting, steady and patient.

This next chapter is not about replacing what was. It is about rediscovering what else is.

That line from the song feels less like a warning and more like a reminder.

Do not rush through this moment.

Do not numb it.

Do not treat it like something to just get past.

There is weight here because it meant something.

So I sat with it a little longer. I think about the early days, the long hours, the cases that stayed with me, the people who stood beside me through it all. I think about how much of my life has been shaped by this work, and how much of me I am carrying forward because of it.

I am not burning the day away. My retirement date is June 27, 2026, and for the first time, that date feels real. It is no longer something out on the horizon. It is approaching, steady and certain.

Between now and then, there are still days to be lived inside this chapter. Conversations to have. Hands to shake. Quiet moments to take in and remember. A chance to close this part of my life with intention, not haste.

After that date, there is something else waiting. (More to follow.) Not an ending, but an opening. More time with family. More miles on trails. More mornings that are not defined by a schedule or a title. More space to simply be.

So I sat there, not rushing to send the email.

Because on that day, like all the others that led me here, deserves to be fully lived.